


When the Devil Drives

by UrgentOrange



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), MW (2009)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrgentOrange/pseuds/UrgentOrange
Summary: For COD-A-THON2K18 fanfiction contestAfter fleeing Afghanistan for India, a recovering Soap takes a turn for the worse. When they're forced to seek help, Price finds something he's not looking for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sleeping Dogs](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/354681) by SmashInterrupted. 
  * Inspired by [Caught in the System](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177604) by [sassysatsuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassysatsuma/pseuds/sassysatsuma). 



> Proof that there are no new ideas, especially from me. But there was this one time (not at band camp) when Smash's Sleeping Dogs inspired creation of a new OC that I had a lot of fun with. Here's an attempt at marrying SD's events, the resulting drabbles and making the whole mishmash work (sort of) with the MW3 canon. Plenty of H/C whumpage for all you rascals who enjoy watching the boys suffer -- shame on you ;-) -- and dare I say it, some shipping.
> 
> Mistakes were and will be made, liberties taken. Best enjoyed with a liberal suspension of disbelief and/or knowledge of the locations and cultures mentioned. Thanks for reading, comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> There unfortunately wasn't much time for betaing this, but the first few chapters were, by Sassy Satsuma. Thanks to Lisbet Adair and SmashInterrupted for their support as well :-)
> 
> Lara (McCoy) is from Sassysatsuma's Caught in the System.
> 
> urgentorange.tumblr.com
> 
> Please check out fuckyeahcodocs.tumblr.com for the list of contest winners and links to the fics (participants page)

**PAKTIA PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN**

The front door of the building with the red crescent sign was flung open long before they got anywhere near it. Landing a helicopter nearby didn't make for a subtle approach.

Heads poked out, gesturing to others inside. 

“Get his legs!” shouted Price, knowing Nikolai couldn't hear a word. Crouching down behind the unconscious form lying across the rear floor of the MH-6 Little Bird, he hooked his arms underneath Soap's, hefting his upper half into his lap -- head lolling, his limp arm trailing an IV line.Gathering up the tubing, Nikolai set the flat empty bag on Soap's midsection atop the blood-soaked bandage, for all the good either was still doing.  As Nikolai dug his heels in and pulled, Price scooted his arse forward, Soap's cool, clammy forehead rolling against his. "Come on, lad," he said in MacTavish's ear, not as much encouragement as it was desperation. Soap had been in and out of it at first, but for an achingly long time he'd just been out, his color and responsiveness fading away. MacTavish winced a bit. "That's it. Now stay with us."

Once Price got his feet on the ground, they lifted MacTavish up between them, moving as quickly as they could. This roused him further, his face crumpling, though they couldn't hear his moans over the shriek of the helicopter powering down, the rotors still spinning over their heads.

A trolley had appeared outside the door, along with people in white coats, more spilling out of the doorway by the second. Price barely paid attention to them or their exclamations, joining the crush of bodies to lift Soap up onto it.

“What  _is_  this?”

“Oh my god!”

Grimacing, Soap stirred, cracking his eyes open at last.  _Thank fuck_ , Price thought. MacTavish's weary blue eyes wandered, taking in the sea of strange faces hovering over him as they wheeled him inside, to a chorus of gasps.

Price was aghast. “You said you knew a place, Nikolai.  _This_  was the place you were talking about?” The waiting room was full of women, many of whom were pregnant, with small babies, or both. The staff inside were every bit as dismayed.

“Well, I knew some NGO had a clinic out here... “ Nikolai's voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Price. "He's not going to make it anywhere else."

Soap had a look at the women in question, who were pulling their veils over their faces, chattering wide-eyed among themselves. Exhausted, he dropped his head back down to the black vinyl and reached out to grab a handful of Price's shirt, tugging him downward. "Price… " He mumured weakly.

Price leaned in, walking along with the moving trolley. "What is it, son?"

A sideways look through half-open eyes. "You took me to a bloody gynecologist?”

A balding dark-haired man with glasses and a blue plastic apron was charging toward them, pulling on disposable gloves along the way. Price patted Soap's shoulder, with a smile he didn't really feel. "Was time for your checkup anyway, lad."

“What happened?” Blue Apron demanded, stepping in front of Price while his staff began wheeling Soap away, pushing through a set of double doors.

“He was stabbed-- ”

“How long?”

“ --about an hour ago. He needs help right now!”

“Yes, he certainly does. Do either of you know his blood type – or yours? Is it the same by chance?”

“Yes, mine is the same,” said Nikolai.

“Good. You--" he leveled a stern, practiced look at Price. "Wait here. You,” he waved a beckoning hand at Nikolai. "Come with me."

A bustling crowd surrounded the trolley, obscuring Price’s view of it.Pulling on blue surgical gowns, edging him further out of the way.As gloved hands reached up to hang IV bags and switch on the large round exam light, the double doors swung shut in his face.

 


	2. A Himalayan Holiday

**HIMACHAL PRADESH, INDIA**

_WELCOME TO THE LAND OF THE GODS_

That's what the sign at the border had proclaimed in English, and presumably the accompanying Devanagari script, in a flash of dim headlights.

Price stared through the wrought-iron filigree covering the windows, his tired dry eyes following the stairstep line of two-story houses marching their way up the wooded ridge in a parade of faded colors. Dawn was breaking, casting a pink glow on gray snow-dusted mountains that seemed to touch the sky.

He glanced back at the two sleeping men. Nikolai was curled up in the armchair, draped over the bedside table. Head pillowed on his folded arms, a small puddle of drool gathering on the chipped dark wood beneath him. Fuck knows he deserved the rest. The trip over Pakistan had been yet another testament to the Russian Pilot's skills. He'd gotten them here by the skin of his teeth -- and of the Little Bird's.

Price approached the bed, reaching down to pull the blanket higher up over Soap's shoulders. There was a deepening furrow in his brow, a puckering of bruised eyelids. Through a long night of aircraft noise, rough roads and the odd car theft, he'd slept soundly. Now the meds were wearing off.

Price had felt guilty about it at first, slipping him the sedative as they'd wrapped him in blankets -- tubes, saline drip and all -- and buggered off into the night. They'd scooped up everything nearby in terms of supplies, including that particular small glass vial, sitting forgotten in the shadows on top of the powered-down ventilator behind the bed. Price assumed it had been left behind from when the lad still had the breathing tube in him, and with a glance at the label, opportunity had knocked. Now he knew with absolute certainly that Soap would  _not_  have appreciated being awake for all the bollocks they'd just dealt with.

As they'd fled, the four pairs of headlights winding their way up the mountain road toward the remote clinic in Eastern Afghanistan had told them their sense of unease had been dead on.

It wasn't like Soap was in any shape to help them anyway. Hell, there'd been times, especially during the flight over the mountains, that Price would have much preferred not being awake for either.

Then there'd been the matter of land transport. At one point, they'd hastily covered their rear lights with silver tape and bumped along in pitch darkness, praying they didn't go off the road. There were things Price  _did_  regret, but he and Nikolai had agreed Soap didn't need to know about the time he'd spent in the car's boot.

They'd timed their arrival at the hotel well enough. The rumpled man who'd answered the bell was perfectly happy to accept both their money and their bullshit story, just as long as he could fuck off back to bed as quickly as possible. Quite convenient, when one's baggage included an inert body. The place hadn't kept up with the times, tourist demands or even basic maintenance. Price hoped it was as empty as it looked.

A low moan rose from the bed. Nikolai woke with a start, his face bearing the red imprint of his jacket sleeve, blearily looking between Price and their patient. He wiped his mouth, pinched the crusts from his eyes and frowned at the bag of saline hanging over his head. He thumbed the roller clamp, but it was already open. “You know, this isn’t dripping any more.” 

"Shit," Price sighed, as Nikolai gave up the chair for him. Pulling Soap's right forearm from the nest of blankets, he peeled away the square of white gauze and scowled. “That’s it for that one." He pulled the short rubbery white thread of IV catheter out. It didn’t even bleed. "Damned thing’s about grown roots.” MacTavish groaned again, louder this time. He was starting to feel the discomfort brought on by their hasty retreat, and had just lost his primary route of pain relief.

"Get this fucking tube out of my nose while you're at it," he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Not sure that's such a good idea at the moment," said Price, digging through the backpack full of pilfered medical supplies. The tube, secured with tape, maintained a pathway through MacTavish's right nostril into his stomach. For now, its end was plugged and pinned to his blue-and-white striped hospital attire via another bit of tape. "You need it in for now, Soap. Until you're more awake, eating and drinking."

"I was drinking." MacTavish opened a disapproving blue eye. "Just yesterday." He frowned. "Or was it this morning … what day is it?"

"Drinking more than a few sips."

Nikolai sat on the opposite edge of the double bed. "It's Friday -- Friday morning. How are you doing, my friend?"

MacTavish winced. "Starting to hurt like a bastard."

Nikolai slipped an arm around Soap's shoulders, trying to help him sit up further than the two flat pillows they'd attempted to prop him up with. "Here, take some water. Show us you don't need that thing."

"I'll -- " Soap hissed and stiffened, his face drawn in taut lines. " --just stay where I am, thanks." He craned his neck to accept a sip from the bottle, half it running down the side of his face. He swallowed with painful effort. " _Gah_ , that tube hurts my throat." He coughed and clutched at his midsection, grimacing. "Tell me you've got some pain meds in that bag."

"I do." Price had just located a fresh syringe and what was left of the morphine. "Drip's gone, lad. I'm going to have to stick you."

Soap grimaced. "Hurry up, Old Man." 

Price snapped the tourniquet around Soap's bicep, a few untapped veins offering themselves. He poked at one, feeling a satisfying bounce beneath his fingertip, and gave it a quick swipe with an alcohol pad.  He drew up a dose, though not as much as he would have liked. "Right then, hold still." 

He held his breath as the needle bit flesh; it had been a long time since his A&E rotation, where a battle-tested nurse had shown him the ropes, so to speak. Even so, he'd never done this enough to be good at it. But when he nudged the plunger back, blood swirled into the syringe -- he was in. He injected the morphine carefully. Beyond the last dose left in the vial, he had no idea what they were going to do.

By the time he'd pulled the needle out and pressed a gauze to the site, Soap's face was already beginning to relax.

"Better?"

"Aye," MacTavish sighed, closing his eyes for a few minutes as more of his tension melted away. He blinked them slowly open again, squinting out the window at the dark green hillsides full of red rooftops and fluttering multicolored banners, with their backdrop of snowy peaks. "What's this? Are we on holiday now?"

Nikolai scoffed. "You might say that."

He eyed a picture of the Indian flag on the wall. "Himalayas?"

" _Da_."

"Would've brought my climbing gear, had I known." His eyes growing heavy again, Soap looked around at the rest of the room.   At the peeling paint, grimy corners and damaged seventies-era furniture. At the painting of the two fierce-looking fellows in turbans that currently sat leaning against the wall; they'd needed the nail to hang the IV bag. At the small fan mounted in the corner and the lack of a television. At the outrageous orange and magenta color scheme.  He pulled a face at the blanket draped over him -- black synthetic fleece printed with gaudy red and purple flowers. "Well this place gets a shite Google review."

"That it does." Price chuckled a bit, unpacking the bag onto the bedside table with growing dismay at just how little they had. "Very handy for keeping the tourists away. Of all the choices, this one's at about the bottom of the list."

"Tourists?  _This_  is where we're supposed to link up with your mates, Nikolai?" 

"Easier to blend in here," said Nikolai.

"Hmm," Soap replied drowsily. "Fair enough." Price felt pleased with himself -- the lad had quieted right down. If he'd jabbed him in the muscle, they'd still be waiting for the drug to fully take effect.

"Let’s get this dressing changed." Once he'd pushed aside the bedcovers and MacTavish's clothing, they were confronted not only by two dressings, including a long line of white gauze straight down his middle, but also by a surgical drain.Moored in place by loops of black suture, a slim length of clear plastic tubing emerged from the upper half of his belly, ending in a grenade-sized bulb.

Nikolai scowled. "This is bad enough," he hissed in Price's ear, gesturing at the NG tube, which the lad thankfully seemed to have lost interest in. "But what the hell are we supposed to do with  _that_?" 

Pulling on some disposable gloves, Price shot him a withering look. "Empty it?" He peeled away the dressing, exposing the long prickly line of stitches.

"You know what I mean."

"Whoa," MacTavish slurred, looking down at himself. "Cut me from stem to stern, didn't they?"

"Shepherd made a right cock-up of everything," said Price, swabbing the wounds with disinfectant. He didn't like the way one end of the long one looked, perhaps a bit redder than it should, a bit puffier. He wasn't sure. "Couldn't even kill you properly."

"F'k me… "

With that last bit of commentary, Soap nodded off. While Price completed the dressing changes, Nikolai emerged from the washroom, drying his face on a questionable-looking towel. "Get some rest, Price." He pulled his baseball cap on backwards. "I'm going to get us some phones, some food, try to make contact."

"There's a chemist down the street." Price pulled open the drawer, a lone pen rolling forth. He began scribbling on an empty dressing wrapper. "See what you can do."

Nikolai's eyebrows went up at the list, his downturned mouth not exuding confidence. "Okay."

Price was too exhausted to care about the way the sofa smelled, or the noise emanating from below. The day was beginning in earnest, the street coming alive with shouts, honking horns, revving engines. Leaving his pistol within easy reach, he folded his jacket beneath his head, pulling his hat down over his face. Within minutes, he felt his own consciousness falling away. They'd made it this far. Now they had to hope that the gods hadn't forgotten them.


	3. The Chemist and the Colonel

_I hear the bazaar is lovely this time of year._

In other words, run your errands and wait for further instructions.

Nikolai snorted, slipping the disposable mobile phone back into his pocket. After weathering a 48-hour shitstorm, this text was all he got? It was now an even better thing that their hotel wasn't in the center of the action. He needed some time to walk this one off.

The early risers were filing out into the streets, to the intermittent rattle of security shutters rolling open. Quite a few looked European, backpacks and messenger bags slung over their shoulders. Many had cameras hanging around their necks.

He turned around to a bell jingling behind him. The sky-blue bicycle rickshaw just missed him, neither the passenger nor the rider giving him a second look. Two scooters swooped past him on either side, weaving in and out of the increasing number of people on foot. Like him, they scuttled out of the way of the oncoming motorized vehicles -- a couple of the little black and yellow auto rickshaws and a red Tata hatchback, Hindi pop music blasting from the open windows. Making for the safety of the shopping district's pedestrian-only roadways.

The bazaar looked like rows of mismatched houses loosely piled on top of each other, three deep or more, hovering over a foundation of colorful storefronts. Bent, sagging edges of corrugated tin stuck out here and there between the various layers of warped wood and peeling paint, hasty repairs that hadn't aged well. Numerous telephone and power cables draped low over the narrow street, loosely connecting blocks of slumping structures where nothing was straight or level, as if this thick black spiderweb was the only thing preventing it all from collapsing.

Tempting smells were already drifting his way, with sounds of sizzling and cooking utensils banging as he passed several stalls with big menu signs in English promising _VEG & NON-VEG_. He was miserably hungry, salivating at the thought of a nice juicy kebab. But food here could be risky for the uninitiated foreigner, and sitting down for a meal at one of the better restaurants wasn't an option. The conventional wisdom was temporary vegetarianism, which Nikolai viewed as something akin to prison sex. As far as bringing anything back to the room, it was best to stick with anything prepackaged, at least for MacTavish's sake. He’d leave the afternoon's more exotic opportunities for Price, though he'd better be sensible about it. Neither of them could afford to fall ill.

Five minutes later, his pocket buzzed. _Early lunch with the Colonel._

Whatever that meant. He had plenty of time to figure it out.

Satellite dishes stuck out at precarious angles above shops catering to many interests, mostly clothing and handicrafts. Walls of shoes, curtains of dresses, all in a rainbow of color. Shelves full of carved wooden Buddhas regarded him placidly, brightly embroidered scarves and bags dangled at eye level.   Big plastic banners hung from balconies on both sides of the street, shouting ads for mobile phones, computers, the _Times of India,_ western fashion. _JUST DO IT,_ one demanded. 

_I'm trying, my friend,_ he thought sourly. _Believe me._

Price's list was mostly medical in nature, leaving Nikolai to guess what else he should be bringing back. He ducked into a variety store. Many of the packaged foods he saw were British, though he wasn't much more familiar with those than the Indian products. Curiously, he picked up a container of Horlicks, then made a face and set it down -- best to stay away from milk, eggs or anything raw. He chose an electric kettle and a few coffee mugs, knowing Price would thank him for those. Tea bags, powdered creamer. A few liters of water. Some instant broth and noodle packets. He spied something he did recognize, the red and blue wrapper of McVities digestive biscuits. The _Britansy_ seemed to like those well enough. Personally, Nikolai thought they were better for setting the hot mugs on, but he was so hungry he might yet change his mind. There was a wide selection of packaged curries, which he didn't care for, so Price could figure that one out on his own. The man at the counter tied the plastic shopping bags in knots that looked like his stomach felt. Their weight made him reconsider some of his choices, so his next stop was to purchase a backpack to stuff it all inside.

He finally came to a sign with green crosses: _MEDICAL STORE - CHEMIST, DRUGGIST_. The place was a riotous, tightly packed ceiling-high assortment of packets and boxes, most placed with the short ends sticking out. Shallow glass cabinets behind the counter contained what looked like a massive wall of small white cardboard squares. Nikolai didn't doubt that in all this chaos, the shopkeepers knew where every single thing was located. Most everything pharmaceutical was either impossible to find or out of reach -- it had to be asked for. While everyone around listened. He sighed. Almost as numerous as the items themselves were the cameras looking at him from every conceivable angle. 

Passing the heavily made-up faces gazing at him from cosmetic displays and boxes of haircolor, he found himself surrounded by all sorts of items meant for babies. _Gripe water?_ He chuckled to himself. _Both of them could use a dose of that._ A box of baby wipes, on the other hand, could be quite useful.

After determining that fruit salt was just another name for an antacid, he put that into his carry basket as well. He found some glucose powder meant for children, complete with a smiling family on the label ( _Yummy mango!_ ) and finally, some Ensure powder. Hopefully they could get MacTavish drinking the broth and glucose mix. That would be a start. Then maybe something soft, or even one of those bland biscuits. It would do. They'd be in the safe house by tomorrow, where Soap could receive proper care from someone who actually knew what they were doing. 

In the meantime, there was still the matter of the list…

British voices caught his attention, rising in annoyance. Two young men and a woman, none of whom were older than 21, were arguing with the Indian woman behind the counter. Their well-worn backpacks hung heavy from their shoulders. The girl's hair was barely contained in an unkempt knot, her smudged black eye makeup making her look even more pale and greasy as she turned to pose in front of the massive assortment, snapping a selfie with the phone dangling from her wrist in a pink-and-navy striped case. The boys, sneaking the odd scratch at themselves when they thought no one was looking, were in need of a shave. Their clothes, the sort that came pre-frayed and pre-faded with an unreasonably high price tag, looked like they'd been slept in at least once. They smelled like a combination of hashish, fruity vape and stale beer.

"Not without a prescription," the woman said. Not what Nikolai wanted to hear.

"Come on, old girl. We're good for it," one boy whined nasally, flashing a thick wad of bills. "There'll be a little something for you as well, all right?"

She was perhaps in her late sixties or even early seventies, this tiny, rotund gnome of a woman. If all the framed photos sitting on a shelf behind the counter were any indication, it looked like almost 20 children called her granny. Her mostly gray hair was braided back into two neat plaits that disappeared under a veil printed with jewel-toned flowers. The gold cluster of the stud in her left nostril glittered brightly against her medium reddish-brown skin, decorating a wizened face whose plump cheeks reminded Nikolai of weathered apples. She wore a long dark blue silk blouse draped over traditional _shalwar_ leggings, the swell of her ample bosom located about six inches south of where it should be. She began to gesture firmly, in a jingle of gold bracelets. Her accent wasn't so much Indian as it was British. In fact, it was quite similar to Price's, leaving Nikolai to wonder just how many of her long years this woman had actually spent on the subcontinent. Especially since the more irritated she became, the more British she sounded.

He didn't quite catch what was said next, which brought on her exasperated sigh. "I'm afraid I can't help you dear."

"Well why not?"

"Sonny," she shook her head. "I think you're lost." Her eyebrows shot up. "Got on the wrong flight."

"How's that, then?" 

"Because this isn't bloody Thailand, is it?" She exploded. "I told you, I can't sell you any of this!" She gestured to the large glass case behind her, full to the brim with tiny white boxes bearing a red stripe and RX symbol. Meaning she couldn't sell any of it to Nikolai either. "Now piss off!"

The kid started to open his mouth when Nikolai interrupted. "Is there problem?"

"Come on, I saw another one further down," said the girl. He stared at them as they rushed out of the shop, cursing under their breath while avoiding any eye contact with him, muttering something about 'fucking paki.' He scowled. _Babushka_ was right. These _debily_ didn't know what country they were in. He’d be more than happy to take them aside and teach them, along with some respect for their elders.

"Bloody gap year kids. The cheek! They come waltzing in here thinking they can just pick up some Valium, Oxycodone, _morphine._ " Rolling her eyes, she waved a hand in jingling outrage before leaning over the counter toward him in confidence, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Some of them even ask for _syringes_!"

There went two items from the list. Nikolai put on his best disapproving face. "Disgraceful."

"The silly prats. There are drug enforcement officers watching every chemist in the area. They just haven't learned to pay off the right doctor yet."

He made a mental note of that.

"You here for the festival?"

Having no idea of what she was talking about, he just nodded.

"Oh," she clucked sympathetically at the contents of his carry basket. "Looks like someone’s feeling out of sorts."

"Yes." A glance behind him caught sight of two official-looking moustaches in brown uniforms. The true reason why the drug-seeking students had left so quickly. Local police on patrol, looking his way. Giving him a moment of sudden inspiration. "He hasn't been feeling well since we got here." He pointed to the display behind her. "Can I please have one of those?" 

"Of course." She handed him a fever strip in clear plastic packaging. It was decorated with cartoon bears, as if a young child would consent to having it stuck to their forehead as long as it had the proper decoration. "The poor dear," she cooed. "Boy or girl?"

"Uhh - boy."

"How old?"

He'd just have to subtract a few years -- and a couple of decades. "Um, ten?"

"Tummy troubles?"

Nikolai nodded, looking suitably distressed.

"Keep offering him sips at every opportunity. Clear liquids first, then if he can keep those down, you can try the Ensure with some water. Then maybe move onto some plain biscuits. If he's got a fever, some Paracetemol might make him more comfortable. Now if he can't take anything by mouth, I have these-- " She reached past the bottles of pills for a small, flat box.

Nikolai threw up a hand. MacTavish would have serious objections to _that_ particular route of administration. "Um -- thanks, that's all right, I think I have all I need for now. Okay?" He thrust a fistful of rupees at her, smiling desperately. 

"All right then, dear. Well if you need anything else, don't hesitate to pop back in and see me, yeah?"

Waving, Nikolai couldn't get out of there fast enough. He’d gotten almost nothing from the list, which was shrinking by the minute. He hadn't expected the laws here to be quite so strict. They must have really started cracking down on this type of thing. He’d continue his medical shopping for what he could still legally obtain elsewhere. Somewhere with less police, less 'gap year kids' and less … helpful.

* * *

 

 As it turned out, deciphering the cryptic text message was a simple matter of following his nose.

Climbing the steep stairs to the next level of shops gave Nikolai four flights to think about finally quitting smoking. But he didn't mind all the huffing and puffing once he caught the familiar scent of seven herbs and spices, and barely contained a grin at the sight of the restaurant's sign. His favorite colors, red and white -- the second most popular fast food in Russia. A deep fryer should kill almost anything, he reasoned. 

The street up here was in a different world, much wider and cleaner, with a look that was more European than Indian. The stores were more modern and upscale, which was why Nikolai guessed there were far fewer people around; the bargains were all downstairs. He could definitely get used to this. However, its contrasting neatness, symmetry and lack of chaos also felt a bit disappointing somehow.

As soon as the restaurant opened its doors for the day, he got himself a three-piece meal and sat down. It was gone in less than ten minutes. Company showed up in five. 

A tall, thirtyish man with long hair, a beard and black wraparound sunglasses set his tray and messenger bag down on the table next to him. He settled into the chair just behind Nikolai's, stretching his long legs out in front of him, the cuffs of his baggy chinos rising over what looked like a cross between Chuck Taylors and jungle boots. The sleeves of his olive green striped button-down shirt were rolled up over tanned muscular forearms, a bracelet of woven leather encircling his wrist. The dark blond waves hanging halfway down his back were gathered out of his face by a hair tie, its bead matching the carved silver ring in his ear. He nodded his head in time to the speed metal filtering past his earbuds, double bass fluttering and cymbals crashing as he swiped his way through the demonic imagery of his phone's music library. Nikolai’s phone buzzed.

Cherepa, whom Nikolai had to pretend he didn't recognize, spoke in Russian. “Change in plans, it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

"Yuri is back in the fold."

"Yuri?" Some people passed close by, their trays in hand, about to sit at the table next to them. Nikolai's staring at them while chewing with his mouth wide open made them decide to keep moving. "Everyone thought he was dead."

"Almost. His cover was blown -- for how long, we don't know. Makarov shot him right before the attack. Paramedics found him lying on the floor of the airport, thought he was just another statistic at first. Our people got him out of Russia just in time. The FSB were waiting until his condition improved before arresting him. Our doctor is looking after him now."

"And what about _our_ casualty?"

Cherepa picked up his red-and-white striped paper cup, taking a pull from the straw. "We need time to make alternate arrangements."

"Why? He needs looking after as well -- and soon."

"They've got eyes on us, Kolya. We're certain of it. There's been too much movement, too much chatter."

Nikolai had just lost his appetite. He dropped the half-eaten chicken drumstick back onto the black plastic plate.

"Is he ready to fly?"

Nikolai plucked a napkin from the dispenser, wiping his frown. "No."

"He needs to _get_ ready.” Cherepa pulled a manila envelope from his bag and set it on the table next to his untouched food. He stood, the plastic chair legs skipping across the floor. Slinging the bag over his shoulder he began to walk away, his head bobbing as if the music was still playing while speaking into his headset.

Nikolai, his phone propped up by his shoulder as he slid the envelope into his backpack, stormed out of the restaurant, headed in the opposite direction. He didn't need to open it to know what it contained. Fake IDs, passports, credit cards. "So what the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

"Watch your backs. Stick to private health care. We'll be in touch." The call ended.

Nikolai felt like throwing the phone across the street -- Price was just going to love this.

It vibrated in his hand. Now what?

_Don’t forget your umbrella._

He looked up at the gathering clouds. A fat raindrop slapped him in the forehead, and he suddenly realized that, despite any snow on the hilltops early in the morning, it was still monsoon season.

Another drop, then three more.

Oh _shit…_

He felt himself wilting beneath a sudden deluge. It was like walking through a wall of water. Grinning people waved at him from under the edge of a shop's dripping roof, well practiced at this particular ritual, pointing at a colorful selection of umbrellas that looked like an upside-down box of crayons. Now he knew why the shopkeepers had tied all his bags in a tight knot.

Completely drenched, he bought one, so he could at least see during the walk back down the hill.

By the time the downpour had slowed, he'd almost reached the hotel, his baseball cap dripping, the cling of wet fabric and squishing of his shoes making his skin crawl. He heard a vehicle approaching behind him and scampered aside -- too late. The van hit a pothole, a muddy wave splashing his trousers.

Images of Indian children and elderly smiled at him from its side decal:

_HIMACHAL HEALTH HORIZONS_

_H3 Mobile Medical_

 

Nikolai committed the web address to memory. Perhaps they could get someone to visit Soap, rather than show up in a hospital or clinic.

Once he'd gone back down to the shops for a new set of clothes.


	4. A Difference of Opinion

"I've never even met this Yuri and I don't like him already."

As he finished up MacTavish's dressing change, that wasn't the only thing Price didn't like.While the stab wound looked fine, the main incision's redness and swelling were no longer in question.Neither was its increased tenderness -- Soap's stoicism had ended at the light touch of an antiseptic swab.He'd looked away, regaining his composure, but not before Price had caught the worried rumple of his forehead.

"You'll just have to meet him then."Nikolai finished toweling off his wet hair, which stood up wildly.His bare feet stuck out from beneath a new pair of jeans, the tag still sewn to its waistband, his slight paunch pushing it downward. 

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat a vegetable once in a while."

"Here it actually might."

Rolling his eyes, Price had to concede that particular point.He pulled off his gloves, turning them inside out, balling one up inside the other.

"Think of the intel he has, Price.He's the key to finding Makarov."

"If we can get anywhere near him."Price smoothed strips of tape over the dressing.Even that was enough to make MacTavish flinch."Sounds like that's not in our best interest right now."

"Not the first time we've lost our safety net," Soap grunted, his pale face reddening as he tried to push himself up. "Won't be the last.We need to keep moving-- " He collapsed back down into the disheveled bedclothes. "Shite," he panted, looking over at Nikolai, who was pulling a new gray cotton t-shirt over his head."You bring back something for me?"He wrinkled his nose at the striped hospital tunic still bunched up around his chest."This thing's getting a bit ripe." 

"We've noticed," said Nikolai, digging into the rustling pile of carry bags on the dresser, setting a folded cloth bundle onto end of the bed.

MacTavish looked down at it with pure revulsion."Fair one, y'bastard."

Pushing aside the short navy blue bathrobe, Price picked up the matching pajama pants, raising an eyebrow at the  _fcuk_  logo scrolling in small white print across every square inch of it.

Nikolai shrugged."It was all they had.In your size, anyway."

Shaking his head, Price set them back down."Right then, let's sit you up."He and Nikolai both slid an arm beneath MacTavish's shoulders."You've hardly taken any fluids since last night.We need to get something in you, even if it's just water." 

Soap's fingertips dug hard into Price's arm, his eyes and mouth clamped tightly shut as they propped him up against the headboard, pushing the pillows behind him. " _Mmph_ ," he groaned."Isn't this supposed to hurt less by now?"

"Going to be a long road, son.Have to expect a few bumps along the way." _And yes, it probably should_ , Price thought grimly.

He began to gather the tube feeding equipment, a little measuring cup with a spout and a large plastic syringe.There'd been a drip set for it, which they'd neglected to take with them during their hasty departure, a decision that Price was regretting.Nothing for it now.Nikolai handed him the cup of Ensure he'd just finished mixing, and spread a towel over MacTavish's chest, all while Soap eyed the proceedings with a look of resigned dread, like a kid in the waiting room of a dentist's office.Price knew first hand that it was painless.The worst bit was having the tube put in, and he'd been out for that. All he had to do was just lie there and be fed, which Price knew was exactly what the lad hated."Just give me something to drink, then," said Soap, raising a hand with a bruised puncture mark on the back of it."I'll be fine."

"All right."Price took a seat on the side of the bed, putting the cup under his nose. 

MacTavish sniffed the vanilla-flavored mixture and turned his head."Erm, maybe some water first."

Nikolai offered him the bottle.Soap took a few painful swallows and waved it away.He lay back into his pillows, looking anything but relaxed." _Ahh_  … fuck."

"There's one more pain shot left, if you want it."

"And then what?"MacTavish looked wearily between them."No safe house.Do we even have a plan at this point?"

Price exchanged glances with Nikolai."If you can drink, then maybe you can manage to take a pill.And to answer your question, we're working on that one."He held out the cup of Ensure."Last call."

MacTavish tried a cautious sip, and pulled a face." _Ugh_.I can't."

"All right, then." Price drew the pale liquid into the syringe."After all the protein shakes I've seen you throw down your neck, I don't see how this is any different."He plugged its blunt point into the end of the NG tube. 

"Just not … up to drinking that right now." 

"I make you some broth instead," said Nikolai, heading back to the dresser where the kettle was.

"No need to fuss."He closed his eyes and swallowed."Maybe later."Price frowned.When Soap was off his food -- of  _any_  sort -- there was no truer sign that something was amiss. 

"Nikolai's working on getting us a change of scenery, though we know how much you love this place," said Price, slowly sending the formula down the tube by gravity.

"I should hear back by tomorrow, if not sooner.I'd tell to you to be patient, but I know you both too well," said Nikolai.

Price watched the thin vanilla line loop over Soap's ear and around the side of his face, passing beneath the translucent strips of tape on his cheek -- white against the purple bruising -- before disappearing into his nose."I know it's not pleasant, lad.But your insides need food, even if you don't feel like it." 

After watching for a few minutes from his perch on the dresser, Nikolai grinned."You're pretty good at this Price.Should we be worried?"

"Aye."MacTavish's tired, annoyed look swept between the two of them."Don't quit your day job, Old Man."

"Ingrate." Price chuckled softly."If we're going to go anywhere, we need to get you back on your feet, which means getting some more fluids into you.Maybe even something to eat, eh?Unlike this one here-- " he jerked his head at a scowling Nikolai, biscuit in hand, making what Price assumed was a rude gesture. "-- You look like you're down half a stone already."Finished with the Ensure, Price drew up a syringeful of the water to chase it down with. 

Halfway through it, MacTavish gestured for a halt."Price … stop.I feel like I'm going to be sick." 

Price let out a long slow exhale from his nose, pressing his mouth into a firm line.The lad looked positively green."All right, we'll try again later." 

Soap closed his eyes for a few measured breaths."Having this bloody tube tickling the back of my throat isn't exactly helping."

Price sighed, tidying everything up. "Tell you what."He indicated the fresh bottle of water on the bedside table."You want it out, you drink all of that.All right?"

"Aye, all right … if it'll stop your bloody nagging!" 

Price scooped up the rather dubious fashion statement from the edge of the bed, prompting Nikolai to hop off the dresser.A few grunting, swearing minutes later, it was clear that getting out of the tunic and into the bathrobe had been enough for MacTavish. 

"You want to try to get the pants on?" Nikolai asked.

"Maybe after I've had that shot, which sounds like a brilliant idea right now," Soap ground out.

"You're sure?"Price asked.

"Aye." MacTavish was visibly trembling.

Holding the vial up to the light, Price watched the remaining morphine drain away with a growing sense of foreboding.The increasing pain was a concern, especially with how the wound looked, and knowing that Soap, with typical stubbornness, had held out as long as he could.It would be back soon enough, and they had nothing left to fight it.Flicking the bubbles out the syringe, he carefully pushed the rest of the air out, not wanting to waste even the drop on the tip of the needle.

MacTavish drew the blanket up around himself. "Fuck me, I'm freezing."

Price and Nikolai looked at each other in alarm."Freezing?"Price asked, sitting on the edge of the bed."It's 20 degrees out -- a bit humid, mind.I need your arm back for a minute."Nikolai dug noisily through the bags.Soap's eyes fluttered closed, his brow creasing as Price gave him the injection.After holding pressure to the site for a moment, Price scooped the plastic cap back onto the needle, using the edge of the table to snap it into place.He laid the back of his hand across MacTavish's forehead just as Nikolai was tearing the children's fever strip out of its cartoon packaging.

"Oh, come on," Soap protested, but that didn't deter the two men hovering over him."Really?" 

Price held the strip to his forehead."38."

"It's nothing -- those things aren't accurate anyway." 

"Well there is a far more accurate method, but I can't say you'd like it much," said Price, pulling the blanket up over him."Could just be the dehydration."He and Nikolai both stood, arms folded, giving him a long look of stern appraisal.

"Aye, that's all it is," said Soap defensively, his gaze flicking back and forth between them.

"You know what to do, then."

"All right, Old Man -- Christ."MacTavish's eyelids drooped, the morphine doing its work.He sighed, fighting his drowsiness to give them both a pointed look."Having a plan B never hurt anyone.It's not having one that does."

"You leave that to us."

Soap's eyes slid shut with an affirmative rumble."Hmm."

Price bowed his head for a moment."He'll sleep for while.Give it a couple hours, then try to get some of that electrolyte mix down him.If he won't drink it, then do it like I showed you -- start small, go slowly." 

"This is not good," said Nikolai, stroking his goatee.

"No.No, it's not."For all his insistence, it was clear that MacTavish had thought so too, and had about worn himself out denying it.

"They'll be watching the hospitals."

"Then we're just going to have to improvise."Price pulled his t-shirt over his head, wincing at his own injuries.

Nikolai studied the bloom of angry purple, edged with yellow, spread over Price's left side."That looks like it hurts."

"It  _does_." It came out as a strangled yelp -- pulling the fresh undershirt on was agonizing.Nikolai had to help him, and pushed a packet of ibuprofen tablets in his direction.Price downed them gratefully.He tucked his pistol into the back of his waistband, covering it all with a tan linen button-down.Deciding to give his usual boonie the day off, he opted for Nikolai's dark gray baseball cap instead.

He frowned at his marred reflection in the dresser's mirror.The swelling had gone down, both eyes open to normal operating levels.Now came the mottled purplish yellow-green ugliness that would slowly melt its way down his face as it subsided.He picked up the Russian's counterfeit Ray-Bans and put them on."There.Can't be walking around looking like I've just been in a punch-up."

Nikolai scoffed, bemused."Except they don't totally cover it, and you usually have."

The moment's humor died on the vine as they both watched MacTavish sleep.His color was off, the bruising around his eyes making him appear even more wan and sickly, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest not as slow as it should be.

"He needs some proper antibiotics, sharpish." That, and this dose of morphine needed to last, at least long enough for Price to figure something out.The way things were going, he dreaded the thought of Soap's next awakening without it.He emptied the backpack onto the already crowded dresser and slung it over his shoulder."What was the name of that NGO again?"

**20C** = 70F

**38C**  = 100.4F


	5. Plan B

The rain had stopped by the time Price ventured outside, and the curry was as good as anything he’d ever had on Brick Lane.Nikolai's loss, for sure.He'd taken some probiotic capsules beforehand, confident they'd be enough to prevent his guts from turning to molten lava, though they'd pretty much proven to be made of iron.

The further uphill he walked, the wider and less crowded the street became, the brands in the shop windows more familiar.The architecture had morphed into British Colonial, the broad flat tops of the hillside's massive cedars spreading protectively over buildings with red tin roofs and ornate, brightly painted woodwork. 

A turquoise blue facade with yellow trim caught his attention, as did its second-floor sign for high-speed Internet.With tables full of chatting patrons visible through its tall, wide-open windows, it looked promising enough, though the dingy stairwell gave him some doubts.

An arrangement of printers, copy and fax machines greeted him near the entrance.The rest of the floor was reserved for Wi-Fi customers, with long wooden benches, low-key lighting and a counter that offered a selection of coffees, teas, and snacks.After perusing the chalkboard menu, Price bought himself a cup of chai.A group of backpacker types were ensconced in a large corner table, playing some card game involving wizards and other such bollocks.He caught a stolen glance from one of them, a longhaired lanky blond lad with a beard.Thirty, maybe.A little old for this shit.Sporting a sodding man bun, no less.

He climbed the steps to the loft, pleased to discover booths with partitions.Most of the places he's seen had the computers arranged around the room's perimeter, allowing for no privacy whatsoever.He scanned the group of heads bowed over yellowed CRT monitors, quickly identifying the booth furthest from any of them. 

Now for the web address that Nikolai had given him, to scope out this particular group of do-gooders.No specialty mission, such as women’s health or AIDS.No obvious religious affiliations, no judgments, no refusal -- a sort of poorer man's MSF.H3 had a clinic somewhere up in the hinterlands, serving the underrepresented people who lived in the hills, where accidents and natural disasters were common.While Himachal Pradesh had better medical care than many states, its rugged terrain made availability another matter. 

So what was their van doing down here?Staying in town, perhaps.Or at least drinking and dining in it.Price could imagine a few other things somewhat less available up in the Himalayan foothills.He made a mental note to recce the row of bars and restaurants he'd seen earlier.Ones not too posh -- modest, though not quite the Indian definition of it.Here were safer choices for an NGO watering hole, with nearby accommodations suitable for a cheeky aid-worker shag afterward. 

Unable to resist, he went to Interpol's site.Most red notices were only available to law enforcement, but when he clicked the link to the public extract, his own image stared back at him.He thought he'd been ready for this _._ But his face -- and worse, _Soap's_ \-- in the company of murderers, drug dealers and pedophiles?Partition or not, he wasted no time in closing the browser window.He took a sip of the chai that had been delicious a moment before and pushed the cup aside, sickened by it.He pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing himself a brief moment before getting back on task, one now more urgent than ever: plan B.

Price had never been what anyone would call an egghead, but he was perfectly capable of following instructions.He had Riley to thank for this one, especially if it resulted in saving their hides.

He logged into his shared Protonmail account and composed a draft without sending it.The service was hosted in Switzerland, hidden from view of the Five Eyes.Even so, he kept it brief and obscure.Then he logged into one of several online command shells he had at his disposal.Once the cursor was blinking in front of him, he manually composed an email containing a string of characters meant to signify it as spam, one often used for testing.No actual message whatsoever.He smiled in spite of himself, deciding that a subject line concerning erectile dysfunction might be a bit much, so he settled for lottery winnings.He hit enter and logged out.The only thing that mattered here was the sender -- a lie agreed upon, whitelisted past the filters so that this 'spam' would actually reach its intended destination.To let MacMillan know that Black_Viking had a message for him.

 

* * *

 

Stretched out on their hotel room's malodorous sofa, Nikolai was startled awake by a knock at the door, a predetermined beat.Price was back.

"Bugger!"The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the backpack hitting the floor. Nikolai rolled off the sofa to see Price sitting on the bedside, leaning over MacTavish.  "Soap, you're not making this any easier."

MacTavish lay curled up on his side, shivering beneath the blanket, the NG tube coiled in his outstretched hand. "F'k that thing … can catch up," he mumbled, his faint voice further muffled by the pillow."Just need a wee bit of kip first."He attempted to open his eyes, and immediately changed his mind.“Ohh…" He gave a shuddering moan."I'm feeling pretty s-shite, mate. ”

As Nikolai sat down on the opposite side of the bed, he touched Soap's shoulder and scowled, reaching for the bare skin of his temple.“ _Yebat_ ,” he hissed. 

Feeling Soap's forehead, Price sighed heavily, his face tightening with worry.

"Price…"

A long silence followed."What is it, lad?"Price laid a hand on MacTavish's wrist, though with more than one purpose: he was feeling the same pulse that Nikolai could see thundering in his neck.

Eyes still closed, MacTavish groped around until he located Price's arm, giving it a reassuring pat. "Y'did all you could, mate."

"What are you saying?"Price grabbed a towel from the dresser.Extracting the NG tube from MacTavish's grip, he wrapped it up and set it aside.

“Y'know what this means… "Soap pulled the blanket up until it was just below his eyes, wrapping it more tightly around himself, like a tufted sea creature retreating into its shell."Let’s be honest."

Nikolai shook his head sadly.The infection they'd been worried about was now a certainty.Even worse, it was an aggressive one.Whatever had gotten into MacTavish's wound had spread to his blood, and could very well finish what Shepherd had started.This was beyond their ability to help, and without proper attention, Soap could soon be beyond anyone's. 

Price sat back down next to him."We're _not_ leaving you."

What might be their only choice was no choice at all.The very thing MacTavish needed most could put him in danger.Now that they knew about the safe house, the Inner Circle would cast a wide net just to see what they might catch.With third world poverty came third world corruption.Under such conditions, buying eyes and ears in the local hospitals was easily done.The thought of Soap in their hands, utterly defenseless, froze Nikolai's blood.

"Did all you could, can’t fault you for it."Soap shuddered again, wracked with chills."I'll never f-forget… ”

“Enough of that bollocks!" 

"Don't be daft.Y' _have_ to move on." A crumpling of bruised eyelids just above the border of black fleece."Fuck's sake, Old Man … don't have the energy to argue w'you… "

"Well that's good, because we're getting you out of here.Nikolai, do what you can to keep him comfortable."

With that, Price was out the door again.Leaving Nikolai standing with his hands in the air, speechless, wondering how the hell he was going to do that. 

 

* * *

 

The bar was a dated neon nightmare with maybe eight bottles on the shelf.But one was a half-decent whiskey. 

Price swirled the amber liquid in his glass, breathing in its essence before taking another sip.Locating the H3 aid workers had been even easier than he'd anticipated.Their sort was sadly -- and at times dangerously -- predictable. 

He'd listened to their chatting and laughter long enough.Though the 80s pop music was terrible, its low volume hadn't prevented him from hearing what he needed.He stood and drained his glass, heading for the toilets.There was another matter requiring his attention.

The music was louder back here, just as he'd hoped. _Everybody Wants to Rule the World,_ he mused. _You got that right, mate._

Awash in the pink neon glow of the short isolated hallway, he didn't have to wait long.As soon as the lad rounded the corner, Price grabbed him, slamming him up against the wall.

"You have ten seconds to explain yourself," he informed Man Bun from the cafe."If you're going to follow me, you could at least _try_ to be a bit less bloody obvious about it."

"Calm down, _starik._ You're going to attract attention," Cherepa replied, as coolly as anyone could with Price's angry face six inches from his own.

"Seems I already have." 

"You'd better let go of me, or you _definitely_ will."With a lift of his eyebrows, the lad tilted his head, drawing Price's attention to the short blade pointed at his crotch.

Price let him go -- forcefully."I'm listening."This was Nikolai's contact, had to be.

"I have something for you."Cherepa returned the blade to its sheath concealed in his leather belt. 

"You mean _that_ wasn't it?" Price snapped sarcastically."You've _fucked_ us, good and proper."

"If we'd meant to do that, would we have given you that envelope?We're doing you a favor, Price."

“Are you?My mate’s a right fucking mess.You know, the one you’re supposed to be helping!”

"It's too risky right now."

The truth of it was what Price hated the most."And the black market isn't?"

Cherepa reached into his pocket, handing Price a small, stubby mobile."We're sending our doctor to you as soon as we can.It won't be until tomorrow morning.Power this up at first light.He'll contact you directly."

"He needs to be seen today."

Cherepa shrugged."You have money, use it." 

Price seethed, staring down at the mobile in his hand."We could end up reaching for a palm already greased by Makarov's lot."

"Suit yourself.I'm sorry, it's the best we can do right now." 

"Which has been bugger-all so far."

Cherepa turned to leave, his tall lanky frame backlit in pink."They're coming, Price.It's just a matter of when."

 

 

 


	6. Infiltration

For Dr. Anita Argento, it had been a long day.One featuring brief intervals of diabetic feet, intestinal parasites, COPD and hypertension.But most of its ten hours had been spent bumping along steep mountain roads to some pretty remote areas, coupled with a little too much caffeine.She was tired, her ankles were swollen, and she seriously needed to pee.

Her phone chimed."Civilization beckons," commented Tim Langdon, her fellow physician-in-exile, who was taking his turn at the wheel. 

She looked down at the WhatsApp message, no doubt sent hours ago, finally making it through the odd burp of signal she'd managed to pick up as their SUV wound its way down through the switchbacks."It's my mom.Just asking how I'm doing."

"Did you tell her you're living the dream?"

"Yeah, although the real underlying question is still what the hell was I thinking."

The corners of his eyes crinkled past the edge of his sunglasses, dimples puckering blond stubble.Like her, he was in his mid-forties, getting lost out here in the hopes that he might find himself."Of course."

She’d tried to explain.She'd had enough -- of her ex-husband, of a byzantine healthcare system that had gone from bad to FUBAR.She needed to stop paying sky-high insurance premiums, so she could finish paying for the house she no longer owned. 

And so here she was, helping those who couldn't help themselves, versus the ones who simply wouldn't, or felt the world owed them something.That, at least, was refreshing.Although the sight of people taking a casual dump on the roadside _did_ take some getting used to.

_Yep.Living the dream, ma._

She squirmed uncomfortably, trying to calm her aching bladder.Maybe they had the right idea, these turnpike toileteers.By the time she and Tim arrived in town, she was convinced they did.

"My eyeballs are floating -- just pull in here before I rupture something!"They'd agreed to meet the rest of the H3 gang for dinner at their usual spot, where the music was cheesy and the food wasn't. The SUV hadn't totally stopped in front of the restaurant before she jumped out and dashed inside.

She emerged ten minutes later, feeling nothing short of transformed.She found Tim stretching his legs near the entrance.Nobody else was there yet.

"Hey I lucked out -- a guy was pulling out just as I came around for another pass," he said, running a hand through his short blond curls.

"Yeah … I left in a bit of a hurry."Now that her most pressing need had been met, Anita felt a flutter of anxiety in its place. 

" _No._ " Tim's eyes bugged in exaggerated denial.

"Let me go out and get my purse.Keys?"They jingled from his hand into hers.She'd crammed it into the largish shoulder bag they'd taken on their home health visits, which was in the back of the SUV, tucked out of sight behind tinted windows. _Shouldn't be a problem_ , she told herself.

When she spied the familiar H3 graphic parked a short distance up the street, their white Toyota Land Cruiser was rocking.Ice formed itself in the pit of her stomach.Did Tim leave it unlocked?That was something you definitely didn't want to forget around here.

She cautiously crept around the front of the vehicle to see a red and gold rump sticking out of the passenger door.A tall veiled woman in a sari was leaning through the gap between the front seats, rummaging through the vehicle's contents.

“Umm, can I help you?” Anita put a tentative hand on the edge of the door.

The woman flung the door open wide, and Anita back with it.“Hey!”In a colorful sweep of garments, she yanked the bag from its hiding place.As she turned, hefting it over her shoulder, their eyes met.

The woman had a beard.

"What the fu-- _hey_!"

The thief bolted, something metal clanging to the ground.Like a long blade, except blunt.Hooked end, red handle.Carried by every cop, locksmith and tow truck driver.

"Shit!" Leaping over it, Anita took off in pursuit."Hey!Stop her - _him_!"

She heard Tim's voice fading behind her.“Anita?Anita!”

She waved a not-now hand at him, running after this man in drag, her rage building.They darted in and out of the pedestrian traffic of the bazaar, leaving a lot of confused looks in their wake.The edge of the red and gold sari fluttered around a corner, out of sight.By the time Anita caught up with him, no one was there, except the sari itself.A serpentine trail of filmy cloth twisted almost all the way down the narrow alley, as if he'd rolled out the red carpet in mocking invitation to try and find him in this labyrinth.

She stood panting, furious.  Not your typical drug seeker.  This was an older man, not some trust fund kid on a bender.She followed the alley to the busy street beyond and looked around, scanning all the shoppers moving their way in and out of the colorful stalls. She finally spotted the bright blue nylon bag emblazoned with the Star of Life, weaving its way through the crowd on a the shoulder of a brown-haired white man with a gray baseball cap. 

She elbowed her way through the throng.Keeping her silence this time, getting closer. As they approached the cross street, she was close enough to see the short hairs on the back of his neck.Close enough for him to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye--

His hand suddenly flew back at her; she gasped, bringing her own hands up to protect herself.His arm stopped inches from her face, barring her way as a scooter darted in front of them.  Just in time to prevent her from being hit, the scooter's horn giving a long derisive _meeeeep_ as it drove on into the fresh flow of passing cars.Her heart hammering, she seized the opportunity -- and the bag's strap, starting a tug-of-war.The concern on his face was gone in a flash. "Look, I don't care about the bag, " she began, the people around them taking advantage of the lull in traffic to scurry the hell away.

Stern gray eyes bore holes in her."Could've fooled me."A cultured English accent.  His face was a patchwork of healing bruises.  The firm line of his mouth turned downward, his hawkish nose and graying beard making it look even more severe as he wrenched the bag from her grip and stormed off.

“But my purse is in there!”She hadn't even finished saying the words before realizing how ridiculous they sounded."You son of a bitch!" She struggled to come up with something pithy to say."I'm… " She flailed her hands in impotent fury, bellowing at his retreating back."I'M ON MEDICATION!"He didn't turn around.In fact, watching him stride confidently away, she was pretty sure this guy had given his last fuck quite some time ago.  Maybe during his recent asskicking. 

Where was the law when you needed it?Other than a few fleeting looks and a wide berth, there wasn't a whole lot of reaction from the people in the crowd, which folded back around him.He was heading for the town's maidan, which was currently a solid wall of South Asian humanity, the bright flames of women's saris and shalwar kameez like flowers walking among them.

She ran to catch up while she still could, before she lost him in the packed parade ground.Up ahead, distant golden effigies on red palanquins floated amid a sea of disembodied hands holding up camera phones -- a handful of the two thousand gods worshipped in this part of the country.It made her wish she paid a little closer attention to what festival was happening when.

Too late.She was among them now, and even here in the land of the more petite, most people were still taller than she was.

A lumpy mass of orange paisley sailed out of the heavens and walloped her squarely in the face." _Ooh!"_ she heard him exclaim.  He hadn't meant to do that.“Sorry love, needs must!” he called.

“Fuck.”She spat out a mouthful of Vera Bradley and kept following.At this point, she didn't have to.She had her purse back, and the bag was a lost cause.But she'd never quite learned when to let go, her ex being a prime example.

He'd disappeared again, but she knew where he was going.She ran down the steps to the narrow-gauge railway just in time to see him grab the handhold and step aboard the departing train.Lithe as a dancer, as if it took no effort whatsoever.Bastard.He caught sight of her as well, though the look on his face wasn't what she'd call triumph. He elegantly pivoted into the car and disappeared. She stood there, shoulders heaving, watching the inevitable conclusion play itself out. The small red and blue train looked like a child's toy as it wound away down the track. 

Tim's footsteps crunched up in the gravel beside her.

"Fucker had a slim jim," she wheezed.

“What was that all about?”

“No idea, although if he thinks he just hit the drug jackpot, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

He shrugged, a grin crawling its way onto his face.“You never know, he might have a raging case of the clap.”

 

* * *

 

Nikolai sounded like he'd just discovered a mess on the carpet."What did you do?"

Price had been a gone for quite a while.He decided that if Nikolai was flapping this much over the pilfered bag, then he didn't need to hear about the scooter he'd nicked to make his way back to town.He set the blue medical bag down on the dresser and started opening its many pockets."What I had to." 

It had all been worth it.As the symbol on its outside suggested, the bag's contents were mostly first-aid related, but it had exactly what Soap needed: an injectable antibiotic, a liter bag of saline, an administration set and an IV catheter.Price dug through the pockets again uneasily, just to be sure that catheter was the only one.Well … he only needed one, right?He shoved the bag of fluid and the tubing packet at Nikolai."Prime this, will you?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed, organizing the supplies he needed.Soap looked like hell, still curled up in pretty much the same position he'd been in hours ago. He hadn’t reacted to their voices.Price had to remind himself that he’d been through far worse.He’d bounce back, if they could just pull him away from the brink.A man could survive for weeks without food.But without water, only a few days.Fluids were an absolute top priority.

"Soap, it's me."Price took hold of his arm, applied the tourniquet."Back again, doing what I do best -- pissing you off."MacTavish gave a faint moan, his eyes rolling beneath closed lids.

He strummed the flesh of MacTavish's forearm, willing  _something_ to pop up."Come on, work with me here."There wasn't much left to choose from, or to see.This was where his minimal expertise ended.He probed carefully, until he finally felt what he thought was a vein's springiness.It would have to do."All right lad, this should perk you right up."

His chest was thumping.He needed to get this right; he only had one shot at it.He coached himself through the steps, pulling the skin taut, making sure the needle's bevel was up, letting out a relieved breath at the sight of the red flashback in the chamber.He lowered his angle and eased it in, withdrawing the needle and advancing the catheter in a single motion.Good old Morag, the nurse who'd taught him, she would've been proud.

“All right, it’s ready.”Nikolai handed him the dripping end of the tubing.

Or not.As soon as the saline began to flow, a wheal rose up on Soap’s arm.Though Price thought he'd been careful with the needle, he'd accidentally punched through the wall of the vein.Now the IV fluid was leaking into the surrounding tissue.

“Shit.”Price clamped the tubing off.He couldn’t believe it.While he’d never been an expert, he’d managed this enough times before, under worse circumstances.“Shit … SHIT!”He banged the wall with his fist and groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.He pulled the catheter out and sat there with it in his hand, shoulders slumped, defeated."I'm sorry," he whispered.Now that he’d bungled it, he didn’t want to think about what this could truly mean for Soap.About the risk they might be forced to take.

“You can't put the needle back through it and try again?”Nikolai asked.

“No.The sharp end could cut it, he’d wind up with a piece of it floating around inside him.”

“Admit it, Price," said Nikolai, shaking his head."We’re out of our league."He stopped short of what Price knew he wanted to say: _and he’s running out of time._  

Price scoffed bitterly. "What a coup it would be for them, the three of us turning up at the local A&E.They didn't even know he was injured.Before we could blink, we'd be flexcuffed and dribbling, rolled up inside a carpet in the back of some van--" His eyebrows shot up." --All ready for Makarov to do some serious redecorating.Meanwhile, they could do whatever they wanted to him."He nodded in MacTavish's direction."They haven't forgotten about Zakhaev.They haven't forgotten any of it, mate." 

"If we could just get him to take some sips of water, it would get him through the night, until the doctor comes in the morning," said Nikolai, not sounding confident.

"He should be able to get a drip in him then." _Should._ Price had his own concerns about their success in the meantime.

Their other priority was to address the infection.Left unchecked, Soap's body would continue to react with fever and inflammation, until it finally began to close up shop.His organs would fail; he would go into shock and die. 

Price tore open the box of Rocephin, examining the vials within.Without an IV line, this meant injection into a large muscle.He held up the glass ampule with a heavy sigh.This drug not only needed mixing, but it hurt enough to need lidocaine on the way in."Oh he's going to love me for this one."He could see it now, when Soap realized what he was up to: _Nothing personal, mate._

He contemplated which unpleasant direction to go next -- the big painful jab in the arse, or the folded towel on the nightstand.

“There’s still a chance we can get this saline into him.That's why I didn’t bin the NG tube, just in case we might need it again.”

MacTavish roused a bit at that suggestion.“Old man," he mumbled."Don’t take this th’ wrong way … but  _fuck you_.”

People down on the street below their open window soon heard the sounds of someone extremely unhappy, combative and possibly very drunk, along with an Englishman’s terse voice."Come on lad, it'll be over in a minute.Now swallow.”

 

* * *

 

"This will sort you out.Drink it." 

Damned morning people.Although in Sanjay's case, it was his job.One of them, anyway.  Along with mixing drinks, manning the front desk, and helping idiots who couldn't hold their liquor.  Hands protectively shading her eyes from most light sources, Anita sniffed the glass sitting on the hotel bar in front of her.

"Honey and lime.Best hangover cure.Now drink it, trust me."  Sanjay’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses, his thick black mustache twitching.

"Yes, mother."Anita massaged her temples, trying to loosen the vise around her head.The local authorities hadn't been too impressed yesterday with what they viewed as a garden-variety purse snatching.Vodka had been a much better listener.She should have known better.One of life's many reminders that she wasn't 18 any more.

"Excuse me."She was startled by heavy breathing at her elbow.  He was a big guy, over six feet, with short dark hair and a heavy brow overshadowing a puggish nose.  He looked like he’d been up all night.  Scruffy, unshaven, the soul patch on his chin getting lost in several days worth of stubble.His brown eyes were wide with anxiety, his accent thick and Russian.

"Are you a doctor?"

 


	7. Exfiltration

The attempt to get the feeding tube back in MacTavish had gone terribly wrong. From bad to worse. The morphine's effects were finally spent, at the worst possible time.

Weak and disoriented, Soap had fought them. They'd wound up wearing what little nutrition he'd taken. The act had reduced him to a sweaty, whimpering heap. Nikolai had held him up while Price, his face pinched with regret, cleaned up the mess.

_I can't take the pain away lad, I can only make you forget about it for a while._

MacTavish had nodded his trembling consent. A few minutes after Price had located the small vial tucked away on the bedside table, Soap's eyes rolled back, and they eased him down onto the mattress. Nikolai had felt like they'd made yet another wrong decision, when there didn't seem to be a right one.

After hours of their watching him breathe too rapidly for a sleeping man, MacTavish had become restless and begun to cry out, caught in a dream they couldn't wake him from.

Calling her name.

There'd been shadows under the crack of the door, then a knock. Shouts to be quiet. Nikolai had confronted them, while Price had turned to the vial again to ensure silence.

A gray dawn came, but the mobile never rang.

They'd had words. Tempers had flared. One thing they'd agreed on was that the situation had become urgent.

As Nikolai had dashed down the street, from hotel to hotel, he'd heard what sounded like thunder. Except it wasn't, a lesson he'd learned long ago as a young conscript in Afghanistan. He then knew why the call hadn't come, and never would.

It had already begun, the subtle change in the streets. An undercurrent of alarm, doors and windows opening. People stopping, shifting uneasily, looking upward. Plumes of black smoke curling into the sky north of town.

When he'd spotted H3's vehicle, he'd hoped they'd finally done the right thing, and that it wasn't too late.

 

* * *

 

It had taken all of Nikolai's charms – scratch that, just plain begging – to get her in this dingy room. MacTavish needed a doctor, and this …  _malenkiy zemloroyka_  from H3 was the best they could do under the circumstances.

The moment she saw Price leaning against the dresser next to her stolen medical bag, Nikolai's hands moved instinctively to protect his genitals. "Oh  _fuck_  no," she spat. She spun around and was almost out the door before he flung himself in her way, but it was Soap's low moan that stopped her.

Nikolai extended a hand to usher her down the short hallway past the bathroom, though this wasn't quite an invitation. "Please." Price gave her a stiff nod and stepped aside. Her demeanor changed at the sight of MacTavish. She walked around to the other side of the bed. The more she saw, the deeper the rut between her eyebrows became.

She glanced over at the bedside table - at the abandoned IV set and the NG tube half-wrapped in its towel. She pulled up an edge of the cloth to confirm what it was.

"He kept complaining about it," Nikolai offered by way of explanation. He wondered if she'd caught the lingering smell of vomit.

"Of course he did. And how do you even know how to – never mind. Forget it." She waved a hand, lowering herself down to sit on the bedside. "I don't want to know." Her voice softened into a coaxing tone. "Hey. Can you wake up and look at me?"

MacTavish sighed, his eyes rolling a bit, but never quite opening. She reached out to gently turn his face toward her, and laid the back of her hand against his cheek and forehead. "Whew, you're a little warm, aren't you?" She pried open an eyelid and scowled, turning to Price. "Not only that, he's snockered! What did he take?"

Price lifted his chin at the table. Finding the vial of midzolam, she picked it up and scoffed, shooting him a sharp look. "How … where did you even  _get_  this? She eyed them both suspiciously. "Was this how you handled his other complaints?"

"It's all we have left. No more pain meds," said Price.

"So you just gave him a squirt of that to keep him quiet," she muttered. "C'mon bud. I need you to wake up and talk to me." She slid two fingers beneath Soap's jaw. "Heart rate's up there. He's probably pretty uncomfortable, among other things." She took hold of his wrist, turning it to expose the puffy red lump on his forearm. "That's where you tried to get the IV in him, I take it?"

"Yes."

She ran her fingertips over the collection of bruised puncture marks, glancing at MacTavish's opposite arm, which was in a similar state. "Is he taking any water at least?"

"He can't tolerate much."

" _Hmph_ ," raising her eyebrows with a wry twist of her mouth. "Smells like the last complaint was not issued in the standard way."

She  _had_ noticed, apparently. " _Da_  … it was about the tube," Nikolai admitted, eager to change the subject. "We're concerned with how his wound looks."

Her brows shot up even higher. She pulled a pair of purple nitrile gloves from her purse and turned down the blanket. At the sight of the drain and dressings, an outraged breath gusted out of her. Nikolai felt himself withering beneath her judgmental glare. "What kind of back alley shit  _is_  this?"

Her question met with stony silence, she eased the tape away from already irritated skin, first for the stab wound, saving the big one for last. Once she saw it, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if she wished she'd hadn't. It looked even worse now, with a red streak radiating away from the infected area. She sighed deeply. "All right, I think I've seen enough. Gentlemen, he needs to be in the hospital – now."

"That's not possible," said Price.

"Let me tell you what else isn't possible. He's not going to get better without round the clock care, from people who actually know what they're doing."

"So tell us what to do," said Nikolai.

Snapping off her gloves, she covered MacTavish back up. "We're past that point now. Apart from what might be going on – or  _not_  going on – with his insides, he's got an infection brewing that could turn deadly in a hurry. I'm calling an ambulance." She pulled a mobile from her purse and began to dial. "Hey!" Price snatched the phone from her hand. "What are you doing?"

"One of  _these_ , even worse." The iPhone dangled between Price's fingertips like he'd just picked up a well-used tissue, though that description was far too kind for his expression. He dropped it into a nearby glass of water.

"What the  _fuck_  was that for?"

"Have you lost the bloody plot, girl? Every one of those things is a snooping device, no matter what sort of bollocks they told you in their big shiny store."

As if on cue, a siren sounded somewhere outside. "OK. That's it. 108- " She stood, snatching up her paisley bag. " -that's the number for emergency services. For his sake, you'd better stop fucking around and call it. I'd call it for you, but…" Giving Price an angry smirk, she jerked her head toward the floating phone. "I'm done here."

"No you're not," said Price, stepping in front of her.

Her brown eyes, bright with fury, were level with his chin. "Get out of my way." He looked down at her as if she were a miniature terrier nipping at his ankles. Some of her highlighted reddish-brown hair had escaped its clip, and with some unruly bleached tendrils dangling in her face, she looked the part. Her chin jutting out, she leaned closer toward him, her voice growing quiet. "You think I didn't tell anyone where I was going?"

Price regarded her calmly. "For your sake, I hope not."

They all jumped as someone else with an American accent banged on the door. "Anita?"

Nikolai wordlessly took a position next to it. "Quiet," Price whispered. She began to open her mouth then immediately shut it, shrinking from him in fear when he clamped a firm hand on her shoulder, his pistol appearing next to her.

"Anita?" The man called again. Price herded her up against the wall.

Nikolai opened the door. "Hello." He promptly dragged the surprised man in and shut the door behind them.

"Hey!" He struggled out of Nikolai's grasp, ready for a fight. Nikolai took a step back, hands upheld as the man saw Anita trembling wide-eyed next to Price at gunpoint.

"Who's this?" Price asked.

The woman's voice wavered. "I'm sorry, Tim."

"Answer the question."

"I'm a doctor with H3," said Tim warily. He was almost Nikolai's height, with a medium build. About his age as well, maybe a little younger. His short curly blond hairline was receding from a tanned, weathered face. His cautious blue eyes traveled over both Price and Nikolai, sizing them up. "I see you've met Anita. We work together."

"Charmed," said Price curtly, giving her a look of cool disapproval. Both Americans, in their well-worn jeans and t-shirts, looked more like disheveled tourists than doctors. He was at least two days unshaven; she smelled faintly of alcohol.

"We could help your friend."

Nikolai looked at Price as he spoke. "Yes, Tim. We'd like that very much."

Price let go, pointing his gun toward the ceiling, his empty hand up in a conciliatory gesture. He backed away from her.

Tim rushed to her side, taking her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" He asked, glaring at Price. She nodded.

"We're very sorry about all this," said Nikolai. Price didn't look sorry.

Both doctors were at Soap's bedside now, retaking possession of their medical bag, Tim unzipping the backpack he'd brought with him. Folding his arms, Price leaned against the arm of the sofa, chin cupped in his hand, watching.

"So what have we got?" Tim asked, pulling out a stethoscope.

"A guy in his - thirties?" Anita looked at Price and Nikolai for confirmation. Nikolai gave a slight nod. "Who very recently had the tar beaten out of him- "

Tim glanced sideways at Price. "Seems to be going around."

" - looks like he was stabbed as well, had a laparotomy which got infected, and now we're looking rather septic."

"Nice pants," Tim commented as they both gloved up. "What's his name?"

"…John," said Price.

"John? John can you hear me?" Tim reached down to drag his knuckles across MacTavish's sternum.

Anita grabbed his fist to stop him, with a jerk of her head toward the table and an accusatory look at Price. "Oh yeah and we're also rather sedated. He's got some Versed on board."

Tim's frown swept between the vial and everyone in the room, until he finally just shook his head. They sat down next to Soap, leaning over him with gentle hands and voices. "Hey buddy, we hear you're not feeling too good. We're going to have a look at you, okay?" Tim wrapped a blood pressure cuff around MacTavish's arm, while Anita pressed a digital thermometer into his ear. When it beeped, she turned its display to show Tim, who returned her grim expression. The air slowly hissed out of the cuff, until Tim plucked the stethoscope from his ears. "Pressure's still decent, that's something."

They proceeded with a more detailed examination of MacTavish, speaking to each other in hushed voices, until finally Anita said, " – and they don't want him in the hospital."

"We have … situation," Nikolai began hesitantly, stopping at the look Price gave him.

"You want your friend to live, don't you?" Tim asked, catching the nonverbal exchange. "John's pretty sick right now, and he's going to get a whole lot worse if something's not done very soon."

"So do something then," said Price. Nikolai groaned inwardly. Enough was enough.

"This isn't a home health kind of problem," said Anita.

"I'm guessing there are …  _financial_  issues? Money troubles?" Tim asked. A shrewd move on his part. He was redirecting, de-escalating, in the cool, careful tones of a hostage negotiator. Nikolai was willing to bet it wasn't his first time in that regard.

"We have money… " said Price.

Tim nodded as he spoke, encouraging the answer he was looking for. "But not enough for a stay in the ICU."

To Nikolai's relief, Price shook his head. He'd recognized the 'out' and taken it - as good an excuse as any. Probably true anyhow.

More sirens wailed in the distance. "Something's going on - something big," said Tim. "Everyone was crowded around the TV in the hotel bar." He stepped over to the window to peer out at the street below, while Price raised a knowing eyebrow at Nikolai. "From the sounds of things, the public hospitals are about to get jammed up. Not that you'd necessarily want him in some of those places." He returned to the bedside, his voice softening as he addressed Anita. "The truck's out front."

"The clinic's almost an hour away," she protested. "And if he goes south- " Catching herself, she looked down at MacTavish lying white-faced and unconscious next to her. She narrowed her eyes at Nikolai, clearly not in lockstep with her partner  _or_  their story. "Situation with who? With the cops, you mean?"

"Not them," said Price. "Worse." The sirens outside were multiplying, in both number and signature. More than one emergency service was involved now. "With the people who did  _that."_ She blanched, words failing her for once.

"If this is what it sounds like - a mass casualty event, he's better off with us," said Tim. "He's not going to get treated any more quickly down here." His next words, directed at Anita, were obviously for Price and Nikolai's benefit. "If we set up a quarantine, say he's contagious, it would help keep people out. Out of the room and out of  _their_  business."

"From the looks of that incision, that might not be too far from the truth," said Anita.

Turning to Price and Nikolai, Tim stood, patting the air with his gloved hands. "Okay, we don't know what you're into, and we don't need to hear about it. You're hardly the first we've dealt with, as far as that goes."

"We've got people we can trust to keep it quiet," said Anita reluctantly.

"Won't stay quiet for long," said Price.

"Long enough to get him over the hump," said Tim. "Then you can take him somewhere else. We'd much rather you did, actually."

"We have to leave now anyway." Nikolai stopped short of saying Price's name. They hadn't fully discussed how they were going to handle that. "We have to get out of the city."

"So put your gun away and help us get him into the truck," said Anita.

 

* * *

 

When Tim pulled open the rear doors of their white 4x4, Price stepped menacingly toward Anita. "You wanted to call an ambulance when you have one?"

She didn't back down. " _You're_  the one that kept refusing to let him go to one of the local ERs. Doesn't matter how he gets there." She climbed into the back, sliding along a narrow side-mounted bench to toss the blue medical bag into the corner next to a small cabinet. "We're way up in the hills. Time is  _not_  on his side"

Relief and amazement both washed over Nikolai. The Land Cruiser was indeed outfitted, though sparingly, as a fully functional ambulance. A trolley upholstered in red vinyl was nestled into the opposite side of the SUV's rear compartment. A plastic backboard sat on the floor beneath it. He saw other basic equipment, including a small suction container and oxygen cylinder. Everything looked new and relatively unused.

"Come on guys, let's get him in here," said Tim, yanking the trolley out, its wheeled legs unfolding onto the street.

Nikolai felt even better when it slid back in - with MacTavish belted securely into it, a blanket tucked around him. As Tim strapped an oxygen mask onto his face, Nikolai tossed the bags with their meager belongings onto the floor, tucking them underneath the trolley as much as possible.

He was about to climb in after them when aircraft roared overhead. Sukhoi SU30-MKIs in attack formation - the 'finger four', shooting toward the black smoke filling the northern sky. His heart sank. Whatever had happened, the Indian Air Force was now responding to it. Cherepa had been right, about all of it. Now Nikolai had to wonder if he, Yuri or anyone at the safe house was still alive.


	8. The Divine Monkey

Anita had learned long ago to trust her gut.So she'd been very hesitant to follow the Russian stranger out of the bar.There'd been a nagging sense that something wasn't right.That her instincts were kicking in, trying to warn her.But she'd never doubted his sincerity.She'd recognized the desperate look on his haggard face, one she'd seen many times before. 

As he'd taken her by the hand and pulled her through the gathering crowd of people in the street, she'd asked herself if that was where the feeling was coming from.Something was very wrong; they'd all been standing still, staring upward.She hadn't even gotten a chance to see what they'd been pointing at.

When she'd entered the hotel room, there it was -- what her intuition had been screaming about.Her stomach had done a sickening flip at the sight of the very same man she'd encountered yesterday, standing right next to the bag he'd stolen, his expression as inscrutable as it had been when he'd taken it.She couldn't believe her stupidity.How could she have misjudged this Russian so badly?She'd worked with people long enough to be able to read them pretty well. _What were you thinking,_ Mom had wanted to know.She could put it on her tombstone, if they ever managed to repatriate her remains.

A few steps later, she'd realized she _had_ misjudged, just not how she'd thought.One look at the man on the bed had told her he was in trouble; a second revealed that he probably _was_ trouble.With his mohawk, powerful physique, tattoos and impressive collection of scars -- not to mention his current injuries -- it had been pretty damn obvious that this guy didn't deliver papers for a living.His bearded friend sure as hell didn't.She had both a desire and a duty to help, yet she'd been torn between those and her better judgement urging her to back away from this situation as quickly as possible.

The thieving bastard had called her out on it too.It had stung, though she wasn't about to let him know that.It had been immediately clear he was the leader of their group.He might not have been the tallest man in the room, but his presence was the first to enter it, and overshadowed them all.

The sounds of tearing plastic drew Anita's eyes to their modified Land Cruiser's rear-view mirror.It had taken her about a week to get used to having it on her left.The Russian guy was now doing his best to be helpful, while Tim was doing his best to let him.Both leaned attentively over their patient, who lay quiet and still.She couldn't see much of him from the driver’s seat.Just one pale hand draped over the blanket, and the outline of his legs and feet beneath.He was big enough to almost fill the length of the stretcher.They'd hooked him up to some of their portable monitoring equipment; the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger beeped rhythmically behind her.Tim must have sensed her irritation at its rapid chirping, because he turned its volume down to where she could barely hear it."Here -- let's put the cuff on his other arm," he said, giving the sick man's worried friend something to do.

Traffic had already begun to build near the entrance to the highway, moving toward the black smoke and trouble on the horizon.Crawling toward it.Cars, motorcycles, scooters and the little black auto rickshaws were in a hopeless mire of honking horns, vehicles pointing in every conceivable direction.It turned out a small accident had caused the snarl.As Anita edged their SUV closer, several olive drab-and-tan uniforms came into view, waving people around the crumpled vehicles. 

She stiffened as a hand landed on her knee, giving it a firm squeeze.  When she turned to the bearded mystery man in the passenger seat, the thin smile he gave her wasn’t remotely related to the warning in his gray eyes."Hope you're not thinking of asking for directions."

"Get your hand off me," she hissed.

Two heads appeared in the mirror."Is there a problem?"Tim asked.

"Not at all," replied the man coolly, slowly withdrawing his hand with a long sideways look at her.

She gave him an equally chilly smile in return before returning her attention to the road, where two of the local police officers were busy keeping the shouting drivers at arms' length from each other.  She could feel his quiet intensity building beside her like an oncoming storm front, with the same sort of threatening calm that preceded one.She snuck a look at him in her peripheral vision.Beneath the drooping brim of his floppy tan camouflage hat, his eyes swept over everyone and everything around them.Over the cops, the drivers, the people in the surrounding cars.Over her. _Through_ her.Probably deciding whether killing anyone was worth the trouble. 

Anita forced herself to breathe slowly, though her traitorous heart pounded louder and louder in her ears.The police were a mix of male and female.Their navy blue berets bore round silver badges of an intricate design, the letters _HPP_ pinned in silver to their shoulders.A couple of them had bodycams and pistols on their belts…

His left elbow was casually draped over the door's armrest.His right hand rested on the seat, inches away from the black handgun with the brown grip that was now tucked beneath his thigh. 

She'd always sucked at poker.She needed to distract herself with something else.Like that fucking hat of his, with what she thought was supposed to be a chin strap looped around the back of his head, probably to keep it from slouching any further down over his face.The last time she'd seen one of those, it had been stuck full of fishing flies. 

"Well, this traffic's good for something, at least," said Tim.Anita glanced again at the mirror, relieved at the IV tubing now hanging there, a steady reassuring drip in the chamber.

"We're convinced Tim was a vampire in a former life.If anyone can stick 'em, he can," she joked nervously, still fighting to calm herself.It didn't get so much as a twitch, but when the man turned around for a look, she saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.As they approached the accident scene, their Land Cruiser's graphics caught the attention of one of the female police constables.Almond-shaped brown eyes outlined in black took a penetrating look at Anita and her passenger, narrowing at what was going on in the back of their vehicle.At the stretcher and the figures huddled around it. Anita's breath caught as his hand curled next to his pistol … and then, it was over.With a shimmer of sunlight on her black hair pulled into its tight bun, the Indian policewoman turned away, and they passed by uneventfully. 

What had she and Tim just gotten themselves into?They could've just called Emergency Services and gotten on with their slightly hung-over lives. 

When they finally entered the highway, the man next to her decided to switch from threatening creep to the silent treatment.Anita wasn't sure which was more unsettling.Dogs barked -- wolves didn't.He kept staring out the window at the wide valley now far below them as they climbed higher into the Himalayan foothills, further and further away from a sprawling campus of tall brown buildings.One of many hospitals their patient could now be in. _Should_ be in.A huge teaching facility that could have taken good care of him, far better equipped than they were.If his buddy hadn't stopped her from calling an ambulance, he would have made it through triage by now.Hell, maybe even into a bed.He could've gotten in just under the wire, in time to beat any casualties flowing in from whatever had just happened.Too late for that.

"You never told us your name," she said.

"John."

"No, _your_ name."

A raised eyebrow and a flicker of eye contact."John."

 _Great to meet you John -- I'm Gweneth, and I have some magical hoo-hah stones to sell you._ "So… he's John, you're John, let's just _all_ call each other John." She looked over her shoulder."I'm guessing your name is John too?"

The Russian’s gray baseball cap spun around to present her with a blank look."No, I am Nikolai."

Her passenger continued to take in the mountainous panorama as the town shrank away behind them, looking like clumps of pastel confetti clinging to the hillsides.Amid the checkering of red and green roofs were the occasional brilliant colors and peaked domes of Hindu temples.A giant red figure’s head and shoulders loomed over the tops of the pine trees, placidly watching them leave.The huge idol of the monkey-faced god Hanuman, over a hundred feet tall, that surveyed this particular Indian hill station.Monkeys patrolled the temple at the statue’s base, its long red banners snapping in the wind.They were passing behind it now, sneaking off behind his back, soon to no longer receive his benevolence. _Too bad.We could all use a blessing right about now_ , she thought.

“My friends call me… "He gave a thoughtful pause, too long to be honest."Mac."

"So not too many people then."That got her a longer glance at least. 

Tim changed the subject."You said you gave him a shot of Rocephin?"

"Yes."

"Might not kill what's bugging him, but a step in the right direction." 

Anita shook her head, managing a shaky smile."Either way, he'll definitely know he got something, poor guy." _Curiouser and curiouser, the skillset of this John MacWhoever.Except that's not his name, is it?_

"And now that we're getting some fluids into him, we're making progress."

 _Let's just hope it stays that way._ They knew their friend's condition was serious.But she wondered if they knew how much.Right now, he stood a 70% chance of survival, meaning a 30% chance he could die.Not the best odds.If his blood pressure did drop, so did his chances -- dramatically.If that progressed to shock, the outlook was poor.Though she was accustomed to delivering sobering news, it had never been to anyone who'd pointed a gun at her. 

‘Mac’ took a long look over his shoulder, trading glances with a frowning Nikolai.When he turned back around, his eyes met hers, momentarily betraying what lay beneath his gruff exterior.Reddened and heavy with exhaustion, curved furrows etching themselves between drawn brows.He knew.

A swarm of helicopters flew overhead, in the direction of the black smoke rising from the northern end of the valley.Pointy, low-slung military helicopters."Okay, so … _Mac_."She winced; it sounded like some hard-boiled detective novel."You said you were afraid to take him to the hospital because of the people who did _that,_ down there?"

'Mac' nodded sagely."Some pretty bad people.Ones that would be perfectly happy dumping your body in a ditch after they were done with you."A quirk of eyebrows."Although that might take a while," he added softly.

"Wait a minute … Mafia?Drug dealers?Terrorists?"

"All three fit the bill, to be honest."

 _Some honesty_ ** _would_** _be refreshing, wouldn't it?Since the real 'Mac' is on the stretcher._ During their initial examination, he'd been wearing what looked like some sort of identification, like a military dog tag, except round.They'd been careful not to be too curious -- bearded John had been watching them like a hawk, and had taken it off him before they'd loaded him up.But she'd caught a quick glimpse when they'd rolled him over onto his side. _John MacTavish.Army._ Whose army?If he was still in it, he'd gotten seriously lost on his way back to base.

"Great.So now we've put him the back of a truck with our NGO's name plastered all over it."

"They're a bit busy at the moment," he replied dryly, watching the choppers bank left and disappear.That ended the conversation for a while, until they left the highway for the most interesting part of the journey.The one where Northern India earned its reputation for having some of the most dangerous roads on Earth.The traffic slowed to a crawl again, both due to underpowered vehicles attempting a steep climb and the desire to live.

After a long uncomfortable silence, he finally turned to her."You know, you shouldn't have come after me yesterday.You had no idea who or what you were dealing with."

Wasn't that just the fucking truth -- hearing it from him pissed her off even more. _And I do now?_

"You could've been hurt."

“You stick a gun in my face, now you want to give me a lecture?" She shot him a disgusted glance."Nice shiner, by the way.Whoever she was, give her my thanks."She jerked the wheel slightly in the turn, one of many hairpins on this often terrifyingly narrow road that hugged the mountainside for miles. 

With a little huff that might have been amusement, he picked his head up just in time to prevent it from thumping against the window." _He's_ dead."

The guide rail was missing in spots, the frequent yellow triangle signs reminding why it was there in the first place.You didn't need to read the warning printed in English, or know which Indian language the scrolling script was in; the skull and crossbones symbol spelled it out quite clearly.The road skirted its way past a deep gorge with a tiny river at the bottom, which wound its way through a cluster of peaks crowned with wisps of cloud.Thick folds of Earth coated in velvety green, the silver threads of thin waterfalls spilling down hundreds of feet through their creases.The views were spectacular.So were the consequences of fucking up.

As an oncoming bus honked its horn at them, swinging its long bulk around a tight curve, the Land Cruiser's left tires rumbled along the edge of the asphalt, giving Mac Von Pseudo a good up-close-and-personal look over the sheer cliff at the twisted metal carcasses decorating the hillside below.The remains of various landslides were a nice touch as well.She'd shat a brick the first time she'd seen it, and was very happy to be on this side of the vehicle.Especially now -- _so_ worth it.He sucked in a rigid breath, white-knuckling the armrest." _Christ_."

"Would you like to get out and switch places?"She tried not to smile.  At the moment, this offer was utterly impossible. "I can stop right here."

"It's … _fine_ ," he grated."Just… "He flung a hand at the line of cars in front of them, their stereos thumping with Punjabi techno and oddly enough, the strains of ’Til Tuesday."Keep your eyes on the sodding road!" He saved the rest of his outburst for the window, muttering under his breath." _Fuck's_ sake… "

A muffled groan erupted behind them.

"Hey," said Tim, reaching for their patient's face, presumably to pull down the oxygen mask."Look who's awake."

"Oh, god," John rasped.

Nikolai's grin lit up the rear-view mirror."Welcome back, my friend."

'Mac' leaned past her to stick his head through the divider, the heaviness on his brow momentarily lifting, like sun breaking through the clouds.His eyes twinkled, suggesting a smile hiding somewhere beneath the graying beard."Oh _now_ he decides to wake up.What's the matter, Soap -- were we disturbing you?"

_'Soap.'_

John's voice was almost a whisper, but his accent was a strong Scottish burr."S'like riding with my bloody parents."

_John 'Soap' MacTavish._

After what seemed like an eternity, the rear doors opened, friendly hands reaching in to take him.Not much later, she was leaning over the sink outside their modest operating room, her foot on the pedal controlling the stream of water while she peered through the small window, watching the nurses get MacTavish settled onto the table.As she worked the amber lather past her hands and up her arms, she could still feel his friend's hand on her leg.


	9. Milk of Amnesia

Sitting hunched over the cot, Anita studied her freshly postoperative patient with a sigh.

_What sort of stray did we just bring home?The kind that will turn on us?_

Maybe.Scarred up like a pitbull, perhaps just as misunderstood.But without a doubt, a warrior slept before her.It wasn’t just the cuts and bruises from some recent battle, or the hair.Dark brown, almost black, the sides of his head close-shorn and velvety, the thick glossy ridge down the center looking like it wanted to curl if the hair got any longer.Apart from the mohawk, the first thing you noticed about MacTavish was the cord of scar tissue that split his left eyebrow and ran down over his eye, ending just past his cheekbone— that hadn’t been one for the squeamish.He’d been lucky; the eye itself appeared to not have been injured.There was another thick scar along his chin, just below his lip, not unlike Harrison Ford’s.With its five o’clock shadow and strong jawline, his face had the same sort of rugged handsomeness, though at the moment it was pale, his cheeks flushed with fever.

What was going on with his face was nothing compared to the rest of him.Here was someone with a few stories to tell, and only one of them ordinary — he’d had his appendix out long ago.One of a few surgeries, roadways traversing a map of injury and healing.This latest misadventure had cost him his gallbladder, hence the drain.His right arm and side were peppered with an irregular pattern of scars.Some of these had been burns.It had taken her a moment to recognize this as a blast injury.She’d never actually seen one before.There’d been impalement with it; he had a short puckered line of flesh between his ribs where a chest tube had once been.

Some of these had blurred his collection of ink, as if a stray splash of water had spattered the canvas of his skin.He had what looked like some initials tattooed below his beltline, and a very detailed piece over his heart with Celtic knots, thistles, the Scottish flag, and a coat of arms with the head of a wild boar _._ The one on his right deltoid with the wings and the parachute, however, looked military. 

Then there’d been the dog tag.Army.Now that she’d heard him speak, the army in question had to be British.The bearded guy definitely had a military bearing about him.So what were they doing in India, with a Russian no less?The fact that the other guy had taken the tag suggested they weren’t supposed to be here.

Or that maybe it wasn’t supposed to be known.Were they spies?Fugitives? _We have situation,_ Nikolai had said. _Yeah, no shit,_ she thought.Despite the load of malarkey she’d been fed concerning names, that part was becoming more believable by the minute.

MacTavish groaned, eyes roaming beneath purple eyelids, bruised in the classic raccoon-eyed pattern of a broken nose.Right now, the least of his problems.He’d been rather vocal over the last twenty minutes or so, tempting her to ask him who this ‘Lara’ was — once he was up to having an actual conversation.Whether this was him riding out the last of the sedation they’d given him in the OR, a fever dream or both, she wasn’t sure.His head rolled from one side of the pillow to the other, his mouth working as if he had something important to say, but all that came out was “Hmm… “This was followed by unintelligible mumbling and something that sounded like "bawbag".

No translator was available, since by the time she’d stepped out of the Land Cruiser, his friends were nowhere to be seen.Must’ve caught sight of H3’s security guards and made themselves scarce.A wise move, since the pistol would have gotten his buddy arrested.She wouldn’t have been too sorry about that, except they would’ve hauled off Nikolai along with him, just for good measure.Armed foreigners with unlicensed weapons would not be looked kindly upon, especially up here in the northern states where illegal firearms were a problem.With the local constabulary, a slap upside the head was considered foreplay.If they were smart, they'd stay gone.

MacTavish took a deep breath, his eyebrows shooting up.“Price?Mmm… ”

Gripping the cot’s shiny chrome siderail, Anita leaned in close.“John?”

Lifting his head, he lurched sideways, his outflung right hand yanking tubing and wireswith it.“Price?”

 _“_ John -- hey.” Anita caught his wrist, the edge of his handwritten plastic ID bracelet scraping her hand.“Shh,” she soothed. _“_ Just relax, OK?You’re in the hospital — well, sort of.”He settled back down onto his pillow, the moment of semi-wakefulness over.Carefully arranging his hand back at his side, she tucked the oxygen tubing back behind his ear and straightened the cockeyed pulse-ox clip over his finger as he slept on, neither acknowledging her touch nor her voice.“Well all righty, then.”On the shelf above the bed, the waveform on the ECG monitor’s screen flattened out, the alarm beginning to chime. 

“Crap _.”_ She leaned over him, reaching up toward the shelf, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to put the damn thing up there in the first place.Though she was pretty sure there weren’t any supermodels among the nursing staff, they _were_ all taller than she was.She glanced downward.'Out cold' wasn't quite the right choice of words; she could feel the abnormal heat radiating from MacTavish's body.“Ugh, _”_ she grunted, forced to stand on tiptoe.Stretched to her limit, a finger quivering over the mute button still maddeningly just out of reach, it occurred to her that she simply could’ve gone straight for the alarm’s root cause instead when she toppled forward.“… _Shit!_ ” She grabbed the edge of the shelf just in time, saving herself from a faceplant that would have provided a most rude awakening.Suspended mere inches over him, she finally managed to jab the button into silence.Though it hadn't been the kind of alarm that brought people running, it would attract eventual attention.Now she desperately hoped help wouldn’t come.If her coworkers found her planking over her patient, she’d never hear the end of it.She cringed at the soft rumble beneath her.

“Erm … have we met?” 

A pair of steely blue eyes squinted up at her in drowsy confusion— she wasn’t exactly giving him the best view of her face. _Nice.   Say hello to the girls.  There’s a helluva way to introduce yourself. _

“You mean you don’t remember me?” she joked, awkwardly clambering backward onto her feet as he lifted a tentative hand to help, clearly unsure of a decent place to put it.“And after all we’ve shared.”Their ‘pitbull’ looked at her like a lost puppy.“I’m kidding, John.”She offered a gentle smile, as much to smooth over her own embarrassment as anything.“You were talking in your sleep quite a bit.” 

He looked mortified.“Wha’d I say?”

Guilt stabbed at her, and she immediately abandoned the idea of asking him about the mystery lady. _Stupid Catholic upbringing_.“Well, umm … actually, we couldn’t understand most of it.”That much was true, at least.In her peripheral vision, she saw a couple of nurses’ heads briefly appear in the doorway, making sure the situation was under control before returning to their tasks. “You weren't this awake the last time I introduced myself.I'm Anita, your doctor -- one of them.Let’s get you hooked back up, OK?”She peeled the blankets back to look for the source of the alarm, careful to stop at his waist, since the bracelet was all he was currently wearing.While sorting through the gray tangle of monitor wires with the appropriate level of professional detachment, she couldn’t help but admire the scenery — even beneath a couple layers of bandages, MacTavish was quite the specimen.When he was healthy, he had to be close to two hundred pounds, almost all of it muscle.She could only imagine what sort of female attention he attracted at his local gym.

One of the electrodes had come unstuck from a chest chiseled straight from the cover of a romance novel.Squashing the mental image of him in a puffy white shirt, cradling some busty, swooning vixen, she pressed the sticky pad back into place only to have it pop right off.She sighed.“Pardon my reach again.”  As she stretched over him to pluck a new one from a handful on the shelf, MacTavish was gentlemanly enough to redirect his gaze elsewhere.Instead, he began to discover the tubing beneath his nose.“Hey I know it feels weird, but you need that stuff right now.We can talk about getting rid of those when you’re feeling better, okay?”He withdrew his hand, looking far too weary to argue.“Your incision got infected, John.Remember?It made you pretty sick.We cleaned that up, and put in a central line to give you some strong antibiotics, the kind we can't give you in your arm.”

The look he gave her would have been piercing if it weren’t so bleary-eyed.“Where’s Price?” 

 _Bingo._ “Price?You mean the guy with the beard?”She gestured toward her own head.“The hat?”

“Aye.” 

_“Mac?”_

A quirk at the corner of his mouth.“Now I rem’mber you.”His words were dissolving into a drowsy mumble.The accent didn’t help.“You’re right.Not too many people call’m that.”

His chest was pretty hairy, and she’d previously been too focused on her work to make out the Latin words arching over the boar tattoo.Now she was able to get a better look while finding a reasonably bare patch of skin to stick the white foam dot to. _NON OBLITUS._ “Well John, I don’t know where he is right now.”She snapped the wire on, the waveform returning to normal.“He _was_ here.So was Nikolai.They were worried about you.”

“Were… "A long blink, his eyes growing increasingly heavy."So’m not gonna die then?”

Time for another doctorly smile.“Not today,” she said. _Not if we have anything to say about it._ She drew the blankets back up over his shoulders, covering the military-looking tattoo with its scroll that read _UTRINQUE PARATUS_.

With some effort, he gave her a sideways look."Sure about that, are you?"

"You're feeling pretty rough right now, huh?"

"Aye… "

"It's going to take a little time for the drugs to work.Are you having any pain, John?"

"Not really … guess I've got that going f'r me."

 _Those_ meds, at least, were working.Better than she'd hoped."Good.You have any, you let us know."

“Where ‘m I? ”He was once again trying to be authoritative, and with his drooping eyelids and weak voice, failing miserably.

“H3’s outreach clinic -- Himachal Health Horizons.We’re an NGO.You’re still in HP, just out in the boondocks.”

“ _Heh_ … boondocks.”Another flicker of amusement, between blinks that kept getting longer.She had to give the poor guy credit.If she were as sick as he was, her sense of humor would've left the building long ago.He sighed heavily.“Um pyoordunnin…”

“I’m sorry, what?”She frowned, wondering about his mental status.

“Tired… " 

“I know, John.Your body’s been working hard to heal itself and fight the infection.It’s OK.Rest.We’ll keep an eye out for your friends.”That was good enough for him; his eyes drifted shut and stayed that way.

“Speak of the devil, you’ll never guess who just showed up,” said Tim softly behind her.

She jumped.“Jesus,” she hissed. “Way to sneak up behind me.”

His lanky frame in baggy blue scrubs filled the doorway.“Sorry.”

She got up to take their conversation out to the hall, keeping her voice low, glancing around to make sure it remained private.“Really? _Both_ of them?”

“Yep.”

“Pretty ballsy after what they pulled.”

“You want me to call the police?”

“We could have them searched — do the whole MSF thing, let them in as long as the guns stay outside.”

“Seriously?I have to say I’m surprised.I thought you’d be all ‘lock ‘em up and throw away the key’.”

She rolled her eyes.“Well as far as ‘Mac’ — _Price —_ is concerned, yes.But Nikolai didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That we know of.Other than lead us into this situation in the first place.”

 _The one you volunteered us for?The one Emergency Services could've handled?_ The look she shot him missed its mark; regretting it, she was glad.“Nothing to deserve the sort of roughing up the cops would give him.He was just trying to do right by his friend.” 

“Now we have to hope he did.”Pessimist.Tim wasn’t wrong, though. 

“You know they wouldn’t stop there.”She lifted her chin toward the bed.“It’s the last thing he needs right now.”

“You haven’t seen the news, I take it?”

“No, but I heard talk among the nurses.Something about Russian helicopters swooping into the neighboring town.So that’s what the military response was about.”

He nodded.“Cell phone videos posted to the Internet show the streets swarming with armed commandos – white guys – with locals getting caught in the crossfire.You heard who the actual target was, right?Of the attack?”

“No.”

“A group of Russians who’d taken up residence here, affiliation as yet unknown.Maybe Nikolai’s one of them.Russian government is denying all knowledge, of course.” 

“Of course.”The blood pressure cuff hummed to life beneath the blanket, and she waited until a satisfactory reading displayed on the monitor screen.“These guys aren’t stupid.”Shaking her head, she glanced down at their sleeping patient.“They knew they were risking his life, avoiding the hospitals — looks like they were right after all.”

“The tattoo on his shoulder, the one with the parachute -- _utrinque paratus_ , ‘ready for anything’ – he’s not just anybody, Anita.Not some random army guy.That’s from the British Parachute Regiment.”

Tim was something of a military nerd who spent a little too much time on Reddit, frequently testing her patience by assuming she knew what he was talking about.“What’s that supposed to mean?”Then it hit her.Now Price’s secrecy and medical skills made a lot more sense. She lowered her voice to whisper.“Are you saying these are some kind of special forces guys?”

She expected the usual nerdly gleam in Tim’s eyes, the one he got when he thought he was onto something, but instead found real concern.“Whoever they are, someone wants them dead.Badly enough to come after them in broad daylight.” 

“Oh,” she shrugged, as if to ask _is that all_.“Awesome.”She crossed her arms as she slumped back against the doorframe.“So okay, Latin scholar.Any idea what the boar tattoo’s all about?”

“It’s the MacTavish clan crest.‘Don’t forget me when I’m—” He caught himself, tempering his answer.As well he should.Despite her earlier reassurances, their patient wasn’t out of the woods, not hardly.“ --when I’m gone’.Incidentally, his buddies haven’t forgotten, they’re still waiting out front.Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“All right.”He walked off, leaving her alone once again.With their charge.To her thoughts.Not the best of companions.While they might have done the right thing by bringing him here, this good deed wouldn’t likely go unpunished.

Anita returned to the bedside, watching MacTavish’s chest rise and fall at a more normal pace than it had that morning. Though still a young man, already a grizzled warrior, marred by violence.Now he faced a different sort of battle, one he could still yet lose. 

 

 

 


	10. A Tiny Blue Diva

Price wasn’t sure which was worse, hanging about inside the clinic or outside it.  

His knee jiggled constantly, keeping pace with his jangling nerves.  His fidgeting hadn’t escaped Nikolai’s notice, though the Russian pilot kept his eyes moving over the room and his comments to himself.The waiting area had exceeded its capacity, with the overflow seated in cheap plastic stacking chairs.The place was crammed full of people young and old, with a tremendous din of crying children and screaming babies, a swell of diseased humanity that sobbed, hacked and coughed.  Price was keenly aware that any of those could be riddled with tuberculosis, and that he and Nikolai were the target of countless stares, some openly hostile. 

In the row of seats immediately opposite them, an elderly man sat hunched over, cradling his head in his hands, as a grandmother draped in a brilliant turquoise sari comforted the tearstained toddler in her lap.Beside them, the child’s listless mother sat cross-legged, dwarfed by a quilted jacket two sizes too large for her.Gran paused her cooing and clucking to shoot them a suspicious look.“Looks like we’re making enemies even faster than usual,” said Nikolai in a low voice.

“You can’t blame them,” said Price, quieting his knee to match his tone.“We’re obviously not here on any mission of mercy.  No more than the bastards that just shot up their fellow countrymen.You might say we bear more than a passing resemblance.”

“All the attention they’ve attracted might have actually bought us some time, my friend.”

Price gave a wry huff.Makarov’s lot wasn’t exactly known for their finesse.“You might be right about that one.This was loud and sloppy, even for them.That said, you know it won’t be long.”His rapid turn startled the willowy woman in blue scrubs who tapped him on the shoulder.

Her hand fluttered to her chest as she took a calming breath.Wisps of curly dark hair had escaped the filmy puff of her surgical cap, framing an oval face with a golden brown complexion and fine high cheekbones.Her heavy-lidded green eyes were wary; the girl was switched on, with the look of someone who didn’t suffer fools gladly.  Her soft accent was French. “Come with me.”

Price and Nikolai did so, mimicking the steps of her dark blue rubber clogs over and through the legs and feet of the waiting crowd.  Into rooms with a lot fewer patients, a lot more personnel and bleeping equipment.  Past shelves of supplies that might have been previously stored in the closet she led them to, various warning signs posted about to keep others away from the ‘contagious’ patient within.  Price scowled at the resuscitation trolley parked outside the doorway. _Well that bloody well spells out the situation, doesn’t it?_ The red steel cart contained the necessary emergency drugs and equipment, including a defibrillator, to medicate, ventilate and —if needed — zap any poor sod who tried to die on them.It wasn’t likely there by coincidence. 

“Thanks, Eugenie,” Tim’s voice called out from the closet.  Pursing her full lips with disapproval, the young nurse left them. Tim stood just inside the doorway, wearing similar attire and a we-are-not-amused expression, his surgical mask hanging around his neck.If he was going for the stern doctor look, he probably should’ve ditched his scrub cap first, with its comic book superheroes posing and flexing their way across his head.

Anita had a matching outfit, though she wasn’t paying the new arrivals any mind.  She sat crouched on a box next to the cot pushed against the wall, one leg splayed out to balance herself as she leaned over Soap, exposing a bit of the brightly embroidered black socks she wore beneath those hideous Crocs.  Her glasses had a minimalist gold frame and a small lens, resting on a delicate nose bearing a light spatter of freckles Price previously hadn’t noticed.  He guessed they were readers, better for her to examine her handiwork.

The lad wasn’t looking much better than he had before, still quite pale and bruised, once again hooked up to a variety of machines.His sleeping face was relaxed, at least, and the equipment in newer, more reassuring condition.  Along with an oxygen cannula, the feeding tube was back in his nose— he wouldn’t be best pleased about that when he woke up.  Anita’s fingertips rested near a clear dressing taped to the side of Soap’s neck.  It looked like a bit of cling film, stretched over orange-smeared skin where they’d sutured the triangular blue plastic anchor for the large IV catheter they’d inserted into his jugular vein.  Three segments of smaller clear tubing split off from that, one capped off, the other two connected to the clear bags and glass bottle hanging overhead.  Monitor wires sprouted from beneath the blanket, curving over his bare shoulders; he probably had nothing on underneath.  Spotting the bag hanging underneath the bed, Price shuddered – definitely not.  Bright multicolored lines zigzagged across the small screen on the shelf above.They were keeping a close eye on him.Anita’s look at Price removed any doubt about that.  Back in her element, this bird was in her comfort zone, and ready to make it clear who ruled the roost.

“Tim, Nick, can you give us a minute?”  She asked.Tim began to protest.  “Please?”

Tim regarded Price for a moment before brushing past him and Nikolai, not so much to put on a show, it was just too damn crowded in here not to.  Price almost smiled.The bloke shrank from them, intimidated, while still full of bravado for this lady.Giving the distinct impression that his interest in her wasn't entirely professional.  “Just yell if you need me.”  Nikolai gave Tim the prerequisite tough-guy cool stare while he made his exit, then followed, with an amused glance at Price on the way out.

She pulled the puffy white cap from her hair, a reddish brown twist kept in check by a clip behind her head, some of the escaped ends turned to riotous frizz by their recent captivity.  A few of those were gray.  “I always do.” 

“How is he?”Price asked.

“Stable.So far, so good.”

“What about his fever?”

“Still around 39.5” 

“ _That’s_ good?Didn’t you give him anything for it?”

“It was 40 at the hotel.And no, that’s his immune system doing its job, so we let it.”

She sat quietly for a minute, looking past Price at the doorway.  Her eyebrows rose into two swooping arches, like a child’s drawing of birds.  “I’m okay, Tim.Really.”

Shadows shifted over the tile floor in the hallway, now lighter.  She sighed, folding her glasses and slipping them into her pocket.  With her hands braced against her knees, she pushed herself up with a grunt, along with a few notable cracking sounds.  She rubbed her neck and turned her head to produce a few more, until her deep brown eyes were once again level with Price’s chin, but boring into his with an intensity that seemed to make her grow a bit taller.  Used to pushing her lads around, this one was.

“Okay.  We need to come an agreement here.”

“ …Go on.”

“He’s going to be with us for a while.”

“How long?”

“The next 24 hours should give us a better idea, and it will be a couple of days before we get all his lab results back, so we can see what actually caused the infection in the first place.Then we can fine-tune his antibiotics — the right drug for the right bug.Right now we’re hitting him with some pretty strong stuff.”She nodded at the glass IV bottle slowly dripping above her.“You can count on him being here at least a week.” 

 _Shit._ Though her answer came as no surprise, Price doubted the Inner Circle would hold off that long before surfacing again, and the longer they were forced to stay put, the more vulnerable they became.Then again, if he and Nikolai had held off any longer from getting the lad to a hospital, well … here was a worry they were thankful to have.

Glancing over at Soap, she moved in even closer to Price, lowering her voice to a ‘not in front of the children’ level.  “It’s not an option, not if you want him alive and fully functional.  With the right meds, fluids and plenty of supportive care, he should be.”

“All right… “

“And that’s with or without the two of you, who _are_ optional.”

Price’s eyes narrowed.  “How’s that, then?”

“Let’s start with this: don’t you ever point a gun at me again.”

Price’s eyebrows shot up.

“You saw those guards out front – the nice men in the uniforms with guns a lot bigger than yours.  One word from me and you’ll find yourself down at the police station, where the cops will first beat the shit out of you, then ask you what you were doing in here armed, and proceed to beat the shit out of you again.  After that, things will get really ugly.”

“Armed?”  Price took care not to make the lie too obvious.  “They gave us the old pat-down up front, didn’t they?”

Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the wall to look down at him with just a hint of a chilly smirk, studying his shirttail hanging out over his trousers.  Giving him a nice long stare of appraisal – below the belt.

Unbelievably, his face was getting warm.  “What?” He threw up his hands, indignant, turning to give her an even better view.  Maybe she’d like to take a picture. “See something you like, love?”

Her smirk was no longer a hint.  “You know, I do realize the backdrop here brings some—“ Her eyebrows quirked as she waved a hand, offering possibilities. “ – _assumptions_ with it.  But I’m not that much of a bleeding heart liberal.  Puts me on the outs with these European kids sometimes.  I grew up in the country, _Mac_.  Where hearing occasional gunfire is a perfectly normal event.  Where people with ‘summer teeth’ have a home that’s mobile and nine cars that aren’t.  I know what Thunderwear is.  I can make sure that pat-down is _much_ more thorough next time.”

The insufferable cow was too clever for her own good; one might say he had a Sig in his pocket, but he wasn’t happy to see her.  If she weren’t a Yank, she’d be perfect for the part of SAS Selection where they’d capture you and try to get you to crack.One of the methods employed was to strip a captive down and have a female insult his manhood.  She’d doubtless be a dab hand at that.  The concept was similar in that he had to play it cool here, no matter how much she pissed him off.  And she knew it.

But she also knew she was pushing it.  Her obstinate expression softened.  “Look, whatever sordid story that brought you here, or did this to him – we don’t want to know.  Your secret’s safe with us because we don’t know what it is.  We don’t get involved in any of that shit.  We’re here to treat all comers, and that’s it.  As long as things stay peaceful in this facility – and that includes _not threatening me_ – you and I, we’re good.  Okay?”

Price let out a long irritated breath through his nose, before giving her a barely audible reply.  “All right.”

She’d stepped forward, but he still was in her way.  At her expectant lift of eyebrows, he pressed himself against the wall as flat as he could.  She recoiled from him as well, almost reaching the point of falling over onto Soap’s sleeping form.  But neither of them could prevent the inevitable awkward brush-up against each other, which included a breast, followed by an immediate and unanimous lack of acknowledgment.  Her perfume, though faint, smelled of jasmine.Much better than the earlier smell of booze.

“He’s here, he’s my patient now, and I’m going to make him better – with or without you.  You can go piss up a rope for all I care.”Now out in the hallway, this tiny blue diva began making her grand exit, her rubber clogs clop-clopping over the tile, but immediately stopped in front of Nikolai, who’d just returned.  She acknowledged him only by lifting a hand.  Looking sheepish, he dug into the pocket of his trousers and deposited the goods.  Her fingers closing around the new iPhone, she clopped off.

Hearing a sleepy sigh behind him, Price took a seat on the box next to the bed. “F f’y’sk mmm,” MacTavish mumbled.  

Price leaned in to listen.  “All right, lad.” He patted Soap’s arm.  “What was that?”  Nikolai stepped closer as well.  

Soap swallowed, smacking his dry lips, and tried again.  “’F y’ask me,” he said, cracking open one drowsy blue eye that rolled in Price’s direction before closing again, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.  “She fancies you.”

“ _Pfft.”_ Price choked back a sarcastic laugh as Nikolai’s face split into a broad grin.“Shot you full of painkillers, didn’t they?"

“Hmm… “ was the only reply.Price thought he'd fallen back asleep until he eventually spoke again."Mac?" Soap murmured, his eyes still closed." …Does'is mean we're gonna find the Maltese Falcon?"

"Oh, leave off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 39.5C = 103.1F
> 
> 40C = 104F
> 
> A quick public service announcement: Soap gets off easy here. Sepsis, sometimes called 'blood poisoning', is a very serious matter - people of all ages frequently die from it. Those whom it doesn't kill often end up with amputations, organ damage and other long-term physical and psychological effects. It can develop from something as innocuous as a paper cut or abscessed tooth. If you experience a fever and/or start feeling increasingly worse after surgery, a minor injury or illness, such as a UTI or respiratory infection, please seek medical attention immediately. It could save your life.
> 
> Thanks to Lisbet Adair for her assistance.
> 
> 'Summer teeth': sum'er here, sum'er there...
> 
> 'A home that's mobile and nine cars that aren't' - Robin Williams (I'm pretty sure it was him, anyway!)
> 
> The Maltese Falcon is the property of the Estate of Dashiell Hammett.


End file.
